A Diamond in the Rough
by Silk
Summary: Genosha's history is more than just about the death of 16 million mutants and a piece of that history is going to land right on Emma Frost's lap. Alternate Universe femslash Emma/OC
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Diamond in the Rough

Author: Silk

Email:

Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC

Disclaimers: Marvel & it's characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. Femslash. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Books don't have them, why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Earth 815. Beta'd by Whedonist - Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.

Chapter 1

It is not until I am being escorted to my creche that I realize something is wrong.

Very wrong.

I stumble over my feet in distraction as my Master opens the outer door of the creche building, my home; a word I was taught by an Older once but do not understand. I know creche. I barely remember the time when I have not slept in this room; a time of bright lights, muffled sounds and vision. From what I have been told, that is the birthing time, but I do not understand that too much. None of us do. I remember learning to walk almost as soon as I learned to breath, and learning to work not too long after.

Like the others, I already know how to talk and understand the orders of the Masters. In the birthing time, as I swam in the warm liquid that was my womb, I remember the sounds and meaning of everything that was taught to me. Dreams of what words were and images of what they meant, all for training.

I know the meaning of mutant and slave. It is what I am. I know the meaning of Human and Master because that is what all who are un-collared are. They walk tall, talk firmly and handle us.

I knew these things as I was being born and learned what they truly meant as I began to work not too long after.

I am a slave. My name is 9031n73. I was taught my name in the tank before birth. Its mark is on my arm, thigh and back. There are other markings that say who I am. I do not understand them. I just know that it is.

Just as the collar is.

I have heard a Master or two talking about the collars, if one listens there is much to learn, if not always understand and always more than I should know. I think all my brothers and sisters know more than we should, but none of us really knows what it always means. I am of the creche and of work. I know that the tank is the birthing place, but I do not know what mon-ey or din-ner-and-a-mov-e is.

I am a mutant and the collar is what keeps my power from coming out. That is what I know, but it is not something I understand. I do not know what powers are; I only know that Masters have power over me. That is.

"Move, n73. I don't have all day," the Master guarding me says, prodding me with the painstick, making me stumble again and earn another poke as we pass another Master. I keep my head down, as I learned in the tank, not looking at either Master even though I can tell each apart. How a Master stands, the shape of a leg, a stride. These are all things that I use to tell which Master I am with.

Today I am with one of the kinder of all the Masters I know. She rarely uses the stick unless there is another Master to see. Even when she has taken me to one of the pleasure rooms, I never left with marks. Still, here where others see, I need to pay more attention to where I step.

The feeling of wrongness grows as we walk down the long hallway, past doors to other creche. Usually there is some sound coming from behind all the doors, but not now. It's silent, but not empty. I see shadows underneath as if those behind the doors are looking through the crack under the door as we walk by. I know because I and my brothers and sisters in my own creche do the same.

The hallway smells like fear, more than usual and the closer we get to my creche's door the more it sharpens.

The door to home has part of my name on it. N7. I have always been somewhat proud that I have never had to have my name changed since the birthing. When others have been taken from our creche, there is usually always another brought in. Skin newly reddened from the renaming, their marks changed. I know of only one other in our creche that has never been renamed and as my thoughts drift over her, my pulse races in sudden fear for her.

"It'll be a cold night for you, n73," my Master says almost softly, comfortingly. I've always liked this one more than most of the other Masters. Her voice isn't as harsh to us when we're not where other Masters can see.

I almost purr as her hand comes up and pets my short hair as she opens the door. The gesture is comforting and so rare to get outside the creche.

My Master opens the door and I step in automatically, lifting my sight up from the ground to see...

Nothing.

The walls are newly washed and the sleeping pads all stacked up along the wall.

Where are my brothers and sisters?

I spin around, my heart beating so loud and fast in my chest that it thunders in my ears.

I barely hear the slight sound of the door becoming opaque, a sound we are conditioned to since the birthing, a sound that signifies the presence of a Master on the other side.

"Shhh. Calm down, n73," my Master says softly, calmly, but I cannot.

I'm whimpering, I know it, but spinning around in the center of the room, looking for something... anyone... my creche...

"You must be calm. You do not want another Master to come. Kneel, n73," she orders with only a small bit of bite in her voice. Automatically, I kneel down, my knees hitting so hard that they throb.

My heart still pounds. My breathing so rapid, so fast that I feel light headed. I have never been alone in the creche before. This is home. This bare place of hard, smooth stone and no windows. This place of harsh lights and no comforts but those of my brothers and sisters.

This is my crèche.

Empty.

"Calm yourself. Breathe slower," she orders and I try to comply.

I shiver even though it is not cold. A small sound escapes my lips even as I know I will be punished for it.

The door opens and the Master steps in, something almost unheard of. Masters do not like coming into the creche. I have heard some say that the stink of many mutants together in such a small place is disgusting to them. I do not smell what they mean, since our creche and us are cleaned twice daily but I am not a Master.

The Master's soft hand comes to my head again petting, calming me. The whimpers cease as my breathing evens out and my heart slows.

I press my head against her hand a bit more firmly and am rewarded by a warm sigh from her. It is not often that one will touch or pet us outside their rooms, but I am glad this one is with me today.

I sigh softly wanting to ask, but I cannot. I cannot speak unless ordered to. That is what I was taught in the tank and I remember the painsticks upon my body when I tested that rule.

"Your creche has been Cleansed, n73. Only you have been deemed worthy to continue serving. When the new batch has been un-tanked, you shall be their eldest," the Master explains and I start shivering again.

Cleansed and Re-creched.

I have seen some Cleansed, usually by a cruel Master when a slave has done something wrong. The worst I have seen is when a slave tried to escape and ran for the High Wall, trying to get to the Outside, where the Masters go, where the Masters all live.

That Master just laughed at the slave, took his pistol out, shot him once in the leg and once in the middle.

The Masters then gathered those of us who were there and made us stand for hours around the doomed slave. We watched as he died slowly, crying in pain, calling out to the Tank to save him.

It had taken hours and hours for him to die. It would have taken more but the Master who shot him said that his shift was past, it was the middle of the night and he wished to go home. So he shot him one last time and pronounced the slave Cleansed.

I know what Cleansed is, we all do and to imagine almost my entire creche Cleansed was hard. Pressing my head against the Master's hand, I sought reassurance and was given it with continued petting, her fingernails gently scratching my scalp.

How was I supposed to sleep having never been alone in the creche? There is always the press of bodies along mine at night to give warmth and comfort.

The Master sighed as I leaned against her leg and played with the strands of my hair.

"This is too cruel, even for us," she whispered as if talking to herself and I knew better than to answer. She was not speaking to me, I knew but I still found myself speaking.

"Cleanse me," I ask softly. Shocked at myself for saying it, but I don't want to stay here alone. I miss them already, n71 and n72, who looked so alike that I couldn't tell them apart. Someone said they had been in the same tank together; something I did not know was possible. I spent many a night sleeping between the two of them. Then there was n78 who had been the oldest. He was broad shouldered and had been taken quite a few times by Masters for their pleasure. He was always so soft-spoken and comforting to the rest of us, ending any arguments and spats with a word.

Then there was n77 who I remember learning to walk with as we went to our creche for the first time, along with two others. She and I were the closest to each other, neither of us having been renamed. To think that she was Cleansed...

I could only hope they made it quick for her and the others. I do not know what had brought the Cleansing but cannot help thinking about the many times I had seen another slave Cleansed and cannot not help seeing n77's face over the others.

The hiss of surprise and the stilling of the Master's hand at my words make me stiffen and freeze. I close my eyes waiting for the searing pain from the stick or the slap from her hand.

None of these came. Instead an almost inaudible sound from the Master drifted to my sensitive ears. A sob.

I thought only us slaves cried.

The pain, when it comes, is swift and makes me fall onto my back. My entire body convulses as the painstick presses into my neck, but I do not utter a sound. Instead, I look up at her as she kneels over me, gazing into her eyes; feeling a sense of relief.

The pain is so much, so much more than I had ever felt. It doesn't stop. The little part of me that can think as the pain surrounds my mind and body, wonders if this is punishment or if she is granting my wish. I see tears trail down her smooth cheeks, her face framed by her long, blonde hair as she leans down on me, pressing the stick harder into my neck. I know then that she is Cleansing me and I feel no more fear.

My body bows under her and the painstick slips and touchs my collar. The combination of pain almost blinds me.

White pain. White light.

A scream not my own. The Master's tear filled eyes change to ones of fear and echoing pain.

Screams meld.

White pain. White light.

An explosion of white.

White.

White.

White.

Pain.

Nothing.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: A Diamond in the Rough

Author: Silk

Email:

Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC Femslash

Disclaimers: Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I?

Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Beta'd by Whedonist - Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17 but those chapters will be linked and posted onto my LJ. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.

Chapter Two

Sitting up in bed abruptly, Emma Frost barely held back the scream that threatened to spill out from her lips. She was breathing fast, panting so hard that the sound echoed off her bedroom walls but barely heard over the thunder of her own heart. Collapsing back onto her bed, she spent several minutes staring up at the ceiling, striving to calm her mind and body.

Not an easy task for her these past few days.

She knew that having the same nightmare night after night didn't take a therapist to understand something was plaguing her.

With a small unladylike grunt of annoyance, she threw back her soaked sheets and headed for the bathroom. Sweat dripped off her body, her white silk camisole and French cut underwear clinging to her like the soaked strands of platinum blonde hair that clung to her face and neck. Not a state she normally enjoyed.

Emma believed that if she was going to work up a sweat, it had better be for more pleasurable pursuits, not because her memories were haunting her.

Unfortunately for her, these days she slept alone but considering the company Emma was currently keeping. She wasn't sure if the single occupancy of her bedchamber was a pro or con. Moving back on to the premises of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters to be a teacher again wasn't the issue, it was the other teachers and resident adults that always left her with a bit of a headache after the end of the day.

Emma Grace Frost, also known as the White Queen, was a billionaire, mutant, ex-villain and bitch. She wasn't a popular person to these people, but that was due more to the ex-villain and bitch attributes than anything else.

Nothing like using your formidable telepathy to ransack someone's brains, delving into their psyche without their permission or taking over their body in order to infiltrate the super-powered team that these people belonged to and then coming to live amongst them.

Stripping quickly, she tossed her sleepwear into the hamper and walked straight to her shower, not even bothering to look at herself in the mirror as was her usual. She'd be the first to admit that she was a tad narcissistic, but even she can't stand the sight of herself sweaty and in utter disrepair. Emma stepped into the spray before it even warmed up, wanting the cool water to help finish washing the dregs of her nightmares away.

Emma hated being out of control, especially since she was a telepath. In fact, the idea of waking up in a sweat due to nightmares and not due to more carnal reasons was anathema to her.

She'd been born and bred in Boston, Massachusetts. Privately schooled in the best money could offer, money that could buy almost anything on earth and doled out by a father lavishly in place of love. Get an A+ in a grade and you were rewarded. Get an A or lower and you were a disappointment to the family name. And it was all now coupled with a body that most would kill for, with some discrete surgical help when she became an adult and forcibly took over her father's business.

Top that off with mental powers that some would kill for, and several that had actually attempted to do so, and you had Emma Frost, the woman who had taken her father's empire and drove him away penniless and then proceeded to swell the companies coffers and enterprises to unfathomable bounds, only to find herself living and teaching at a school for mutants and fight for the plight of others as a member of the world famous, or infamous depending on whom you talked to, X-Men.

She was so many things, powerful and beautiful not the least amongst them, and yet here she was behaving like a scared child.

Leaning back into the spray, Emma closed her eyes and let the water run down her body, the heat beating down on her, slowly relaxing her.

Genosha.

Over sixteen million souls murdered in a few hours, nearly all of them like herself; mutants.

Homo sapiens superior. Hated by many for just being born. Feared by countless more.

In a mansion full of mutants, if anyone one of them even thought of the name Genosha the psychic landscape went from the normal untrained turbulence that usually surrounded any group of people, to an almost wild rapid with dangerous boulders and whirlpools strewn throughout.

_Fate has a sick sense of humor, _Emma mused to herself and lifted an arm and watched as her secondary mutation began to take over her body. It was the only good thing she had taken away from that haunted place.

Enjoying the feel of her fingertips hardening, Emma transformed slowly, her telepathic senses dulling to nothing.

Diamond.

Soon she was all smooth, flawless, shimmering organic diamond. Her eyes. Her normally sharp-witted tongue. Her hair. All of her organs. Her heart.

Especially her heart.

_What had Hank called me? Oh yes... An exoskeleton of invulnerable organic jewelry_, she snorted softly. _I wonder how much my insurance premium with Lloyd's of London will go up?_ Emma thought to herself.

She hated the night lately. A handful of months had passed since her ordeal, and she thought she had a handle on what had happened to her. Yet, the night terrors had returned with a vengeance the last few evenings. It didn't matter that she was a world class telepath and extremely capable therapist; she was finding it hard to cure herself and that completely rankled her, making her more of a bitch during the days than usual.

Nothing really helped; not a glass of the best brandy money could buy, nor driving herself to exhaustion throughout the day. Visions of the blackened ash landscape. Half collapsed and burning buildings. The bones of millions. That was what woke her every night this week.

That and the screams.

With an annoyed hiss, Emma let her diamond form flow back to her normal, flawless skinned self and turned off the shower. She didn't bother drying her hair, not when she might get a few more hours sleep if she was lucky. Instead she dried off, slipped on a fresh set of white lace underwear and a satin top, grabbed her favorite short robe and padded quietly out of her room.

The mansion was quiet, a pleasant change from the normal tumultuous day of children running between classes and play.

Her mind reached out as she paced down the hall to the kitchen, brushing against the minds of her students, automatically soothing one or two that were having their own nightmares.

If only she had someone to sooth her own, she thought bitterly.

The light was on in the smaller faculty kitchen so she wasn't startled to see Jean Grey, another teacher and telepath, sitting quietly in the corner sipping what smelled like jasmine tea.

"There's a fresh pot of it, if you'd care for some," the tall, leggy red head offered politely, motioning towards the tea pot.

"Thank you, but I think I need something a bit stronger."

While Emma would rather be alone at the moment, she didn't truly mind the woman's company. Jean was one of the original X-Men, a foe of hers back when Emma believed gaining power was more important than anything else in the world. Tall with long coltish legs and gorgeous red hair that never needed to be curled. And with all of that she had a personable personality, not like Emma herself she admitted. But then Emma still believed that being feared was preferable to being coddled to. She preferred the frank hostility of her peers to the less desirable "sucking up to the powerful telepath" that most of her students attempted.

Opening the freezer, she proceeded to dig amongst the frozen peas and onions in the far back, dragging her prize out with satisfaction. Peter's stash wasn't as secret as he thought it was, Emma having gotten that tidbit from their resident Russian's mind almost as soon as she moved into the mansion.

Consciously prying into the minds of the people around her was a violation of course, not that that had ever stopped her, but she rarely had to resort to such measures when unshielded thoughts were always bombarding her. She could care less about who was dating whom and who was curious about what was for dinner. Idle thoughts were usually boring and an annoyance to her, but once in a while someone would think something interesting. Like Peter and his vodka.

Bringing the bottle and two glasses to the table, Emma graciously set the bottle between her and the other woman and slid a glass to her, just in case she wanted to join her.

A few long moments passed, each woman just enjoying the quiet and their choice of drinks. The window just behind Jean was still pitch dark, not even the faint trace of predawn light could be seen.

"You've been up this early for the last several nights. Care to share?" Jean asked quietly as she set aside her tea and poured herself some of the chilled vodka Emma had purloined.

"Ahh. So that's why you're here? Ambushing me. Clever, clever girl." Emma did her best not to grimace at her own inability to sleep. The fact that it had been noticed didn't sit well with her.

"It's mostly self-preservation. You've been rather... vocal on the psychic plain. None of the other telepaths have wanted to talk to you about it in fear that you'd make them all run screaming in fear," Jean smiled slightly to show she wasn't taking Emma's slightly cold tone and words to heart. "Genosha?"

It wasn't that she wanted to share with Jean, they were both telepaths and if not exactly friends, at least they weren't at each other throats anymore. In fact, Jean had been the first to set aside their differences and started to treat Emma, if not exactly like her bosom buddy, then not like an enemy of the X-Men anymore. Far better than some of the others, even the ones that like her with darker pasts.

"I'm not here to be your therapist, although God knows you need one," Jean smiled letting her know that the last was said in humor, "I'm just here as a friend."

"A friend?" The echoed words were said in almost bitter disbelief. Emma knew from long experience that anyone who said they were her friend always had ulterior motives. It was just another tool, just as sex was.

"Yes. Whether or not you like it."

"Oh very well. If it will keep you from ambushing me in the middle of the night again," Emma muttered in exasperation. Letting Jean believe she had her hooks in her couldn't hurt. She took another sip from her glass before continuing. "Yes, I've been having dreams of that dreadful place. I'm quite sure everyone on the team has."

"Anything specific or..."

Emma's thumb stroked along the lip of her tea cup as she spoke. "Oddly, the nightmares are slightly different than just after it happened. It starts out the same with the city gone but then it changes. I'm always searching for something... someone maybe. It ends in darkness with the smell… of something rotting. Quite disgusting actually."

"It's been months, do you think subconsciously you believe there's another survivor?"

"I don't see how. We searched that island thoroughly and the Cuckoos were on Cerebra." The powerful machine under the school built by Xavier with alien and advanced technology was created to expand a telepath's power immensely. One of it's abilities was to search out the unique signature that each mutant had and compare it to the database. The machine was one of the ways that the staff at the mansion had known instantly of the fate of the people there. The rapidly declining mutant population had set off all the alarms and immediately a team had been dispatched. Although the machine wasn't infallible, the search for survivors after the fall of Genosha had been lead by Emma's three favorite students, three identical clones of Emma's, once five, whose natural psychic gestalt was stronger than Emma or Jean herself when the three were together. They were nicknamed the Cuckoos, a name they had recently changed to the 3 in 1.

Jean sat her glass on the table, spinning it slowly. "I think we should have Cerebra take a look."

"This is ridiculous. It's just a dream," Emma shot back. "Besides, I don't want word of this getting back to Scott. That's all I need is that man breathing down my neck and accusing me of being mentally unstable. Again."

"More than usual?" the red head teased.

"We all have our quirks, Jean dear. At least I'm up front about mine."

Silence settled between them for several minutes with Emma eying the other telepath warily. She was fidgeting and Emma detested fidgeting. Something was obviously bothering the other woman and she didn't think it had anything to do with nightmares.

"Have you noticed that he has taken to carrying around a telepathy blocker?" Jean asks nonchalantly, as if she was talking about the weather and not her ex-husband's sudden need for mental privacy.

"Yes and isn't that just the most annoying sound? Like crickets mating with the sound of fingernails on a blackboard." The blonde telepath's cultured accent sounded odd through clenched teeth. She knew this was about the woman's ex-husband and it wasn't a subject she really wanted to talk about, but Emma supposed it was only fair since they'd discussed her sleeping habits. "I can't even walk within twenty feet of him without feeling as if some reptile is clawing at the inside of my cranium."

"He's become more reclusive, if that's even possible." Jean reached up, ran a hand through her red hair and twirled a lock absently around a finger. "He makes me so tired, Emma. I was always there for him, helping him. I never turned my back on his pain. And there's so much pain, especially since he lost his sight. To first have his vision handicapped by his mutation, never seeing the world as we do having to always use that visor or wind up blasting a hole through whatever he looks at. Then to be possessed by that monster Apocalypse and his eyes ripped out, to have even his mutation taken away along with his eyes... I don't think I could deal with it if it had happened to me.

"We've... We were," she corrected herself, with barely any hesitation Emma noticed, "together for so long, but he wasn't really there when I needed him. And since the attack, he turned completely away from me. In the end I was married more to marital aides than Scott."

Emma sighed internally, wondering what she had done this week to piss off God that he'd put her in this situation. If they were going to continue talking like this she was going to have to go to her office and break the good alcohol out.

Carefully refilling both their drinks, Emma sighed and bit the bullet. "I used to think that Scott was the ultimate Boy Scout. Hearing how you two were 'made' for each other, the perfect couple… well I'm sure you could imagine how nauseated I felt. I even flirted with the idea of seducing him under your very nose, Jean. Not physically, but I considered tempting him with a psychic affair."

"What stopped you?" the other telepath asked curiously.

At least she didn't sound like the red head was going to rip her brain into confetti. That was a plus for the evening.

"Self-respect," Emma answered then rolled her eyes at Jean's obvious disbelief.

"Well self-respect was part of it. Part of it was you as well. I'm not sure if you know this, but your gifts... well, while I was tempted, I wasn't willing to be mentally torn apart by you. The Phoenix gets a bit out of hand when your emotions come into play," she said honestly, referring to the cosmic entity that had bonded with the other woman.

"Thank you Emma. I was aware," she said with some humor. Jean was not under any illusions when it came to her powers. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. You've always seemed so..."

"Jealous of the almighty Jean Grey?" Emma supplied easily and with a bit of a bite.

"Well, not of me, but perhaps of my gifts."

"My dear Jean, my telepathic abilities are as powerful as your own without that overgrown bird in your head. And while I do not have any active telekinetic power, I think I make up for it with being an oversized and flawless gem. If it weren't for that entity that you've bonded with, I'm sure I could take you." The blonde telepath's smile took any heat out of her words and to her surprise Jean laughed.

"We could sell tickets to the match."

"I could always use the extra spare change. There's this absolutely stunning diamond bracelet at Tiffani's that I've had my eye on."

"Emma, you're insanely wealthily. You don't need the extra money to buy it."

"No, you're quite right. But using another's money to purchase it gives it more sentimental value."

Jean's chuckle made Emma's own lips twitch. She was pleased that she had steered the conversation away from the woman's doomed marriage and into a more playful direction.

"Do you think he's hiding something?" the other woman asked making Emma cringe mentally. So much for changing the conversation.

"It's Scott Summers. Of course he's hiding something." Emma sighed and took a nice long sip of her drink, letting the sting of the alcohol absorb her attention for the moment. She hated this, this frail emotional wasteland that everyone seemed to want to take her through since she moved here. Looking out the window on the other side of Jean, she wished she was out there right now, away from all this 'talking about feelings' and the minefield that was Scott Summers, but she wasn't and a Frost was not raised to be a coward.

Fine, the woman wanted to know her opinion? She would get it.

"Scott is a crusader and the problem with being a crusader is that you have to continue to believe. Crusades are dangerous things and I think that since the accident he's found himself stuck halfway between continuing to be a follower of Xavier's dream and seeing that dream crushed time after time. I'm also sure Apocalypse making his rip out his own eyes before his son could pull out that monster's astral form... well, we know what that ended up doing to a man like Scott," she looked into the other woman's eyes, speaking frankly.

The X-Men had run into Apocalypse many times and while they had always managed to drive him off, it was never really a victory. How could you beat the man who was born over five thousand years old and just kept coming back again and again. This latest run-in had found Apocalypse invading Scott Summer's mind and even though he'd been defeated and drove out he had taken his revenge by making Scott tear out his eyes with his own hands.

"He's stuck. He can't get away from what Charles taught him; most of you original X-Men are like that to some degree, and being paranoid and disillusioned. It makes him dangerous. He's questioning every decision that's made here at the school and our decisions on missions, as if he knows better than any of us. We go off, leaving him and you know... you can feel it just as I do Jean; the frustration level he was putting out before he got that damn dampener was obvious.

"I don't know what he's up to. I don't know if he's a danger to us or the children, but that man is breaking. I just hope to God he doesn't take us with him," Emma tore her gaze from the window back to the volatile woman beside her.

The two women continued to look at each other in silence. Emma kept her shields tight but allowed her own feeling of sincerity to leak through. She wasn't entirely sure how the other woman would take what she'd said. Her own history of manipulation and deceit versus the X-Men worked against her most of the time and she knew Jean was considering that. She would be a fool not to.

Jean sighed and finally nodded in agreement with what she'd said. She had known Xavier since she was young, pulled out of a mental institution for 'hearing voices', trained alongside the first group of X-Men, all so young and full of hope with Xavier's dream of humans and mutant's living together to fuel them.

Life isn't a dream however and Jean had died and come back to life and seen so much, that the dream wasn't as alive anymore. She wasn't sixteen anymore and didn't believe in wishes coming true and peace on earth. Santa wasn't real and mutants were hunted everywhere.

"A part of me still loves him and worries about him," she admitted before tilting her glass up and draining it all in one long swallow.

"He needs help," Emma replied softly.

"I'll try to talk to him again," green eyes pleaded with her.

"Of course."

"So you really found Scott attractive?"

Jean's question came out of nowhere, surprising her. The idea that she shouldn't have gotten out of bed was looking like a smart one.

"Him? Well, he's not entirely hard to look at, even since the accident." She let her lips curl up in a smile. "I found him quite charming on occasion, in a Boy Scout kind of way. Fortunately, I found that time and a healthy amount of shopping cures anything, even a small infatuation with Scott Summers."

"Your sarcasm is unattractive," Jean shot back, returning her smile.

"You're a terrible liar. My acerbic wit is wonderfully attractive and one of the high points of your day. Denying it is what's unattractive. Saying exactly what you mean is rather freeing, my dear, you should try it more often."

"God, I hate you." The red-head rolled her eyes in mild annoyance, but still smiling.

"See? Just like that. Admit it, that felt good, didn't it?"


	3. Chapter 3

Title: A Diamond in the Rough  
Author: Silk  
Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC Femslash  
Disclaimers: Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Beta'd by Whedonist Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17/M. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.

**Please don't forget to review. Thank you!**

Flashback scenes are in all italics and have a line before and after that looks like:

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Genosha. A decent-sized island really, with a large almost perfect circlular bay that divers have said holds some of the most beautiful reefs in the world and crystal blue waters that lap up onto the shore in gentle waves.

That is where the beauty of this place ends.

Genosha is a wasteland of crumbled buildings, destroyed lives and millions upon millions of dead.

Even the massive humanitarian effort that once crawled over these broken pavements and collapsed buildings, could only find so many bodies. The rest are buried forever where they died.

Emma grimaced as she stepped off the ramp of the Blackbird, the once white sand under her feet now gray and full of ash.

"Ahh, Paradise," she spoke, her tone like ice.

"I hate coming back here too, Emma," Jean assured her as she stepped up next to her fellow X-Man, her red hair snapping back from the breeze coming from behind them. The air was clean here with the wind coming from their backs instead of from the massive graveyard they were looking at.

"Oh, yes. Please do tell me how this place haunts your dreams. How you've experienced it firsthand..." the blonde telepath started to go off but couldn't find herself able to finish.

Jean started moving, making her way off the beach, followed by the rest of her team. Emma sighed and rolled her eyes before reluctantly following.

She reached out with her mind, a tendril brushing the shields of the other woman. When she felt them lessen in strength she spoke telepathically, _*Being a bitch can be a tad wearing sometimes. While you weren't here for it's destruction, you did see the aftermath.*_

Emma caught Jean's eyes as the woman looked back momentarily.

_*Apology accepted. I know it's harder on you. We all know.*_

_*Yes, well... we should have brought a picnic basket_*, Emma replied before ending the conversation. Being dragged here against her will because Jean went behind her back and scanned the island with Cerebra rankled her. She had told the woman it was just a dream and being countermanded wasn't making her vodka hangover headache any better.

Emma abhorred this place. Its memories. Its constant reminder of her failings. This island kingdom had been ripped from the hands of its mutant hating population by the very people they had enslaved and terrorized. The rebellion had been a bloody time but then it had blossomed into a paradise where all mutants were free and welcome here, their gifts creating cities whose spires and buildings were only possible by the God-given talents only millions of mutants could provide. Hammer bay, the capital, was the shining example to all that mutants could live together in peace... at least with themselves. Magneto's, Master of Magnetism and ruler of Genosha, had had plans to conquer the world, but those had been short-lived. Some days she wondered whether or not that was a good thing.

Looking out onto the scarred remnants of that once graceful place, Emma couldn't prevent a shiver from scurrying up her spine as she remembered the day it all came tumbling down.

It still stunned her how one human... only one! Could murder sixteen million people in less than one hour. All it took was the will to kill, the desire to destroy a civilization and the sheer balls to hit that button and send out death.

Sentinels. Machines whose only purpose was to hunt down and destroy humans that happened to have the X-gene. The X-Men had a long history of combating different models of Sentinels over the years. All of them owing their existence to Dr. Bolivar Trask, an anthropologist who thought the escalating number of mutant births would be the end of the rest of humanity. He ended up fathering a mutant himself.

History is full of little gems of irony.

Emma herself had almost died during a Sentinel attack when Trevor Fitzroy, another mutant, had sent several to the Massachusetts Academy where she'd been Head Mistress. The school had been destroyed and the student superpower team called the Hellions had died, except for one. That one had been so traumatized by the incident that she was still with Emma. The girl, whose mutant power was to transform into either a purple house cat or lioness, had since been stuck in her smaller form unwilling to change or speak to anyone since. Catseye was little more than an intelligent pet despite Emma's continuing attempts to rehabilitate her. Sometimes a person's trauma was too great to be healed.

It didn't matter how many organizations the X-Men had destroyed trying to eradicate all existence of the Sentinels; there was always someone out there who had the knowledge and the resources to make more. There would always be someone that hated mutants, just as there would be mutants that held no love for their own species, let alone baseline humans.

"I'm not sensing much so far. Low level life forms for the most part," Jean Grey opened her eyes from her telepathic sweep.

Emma reached out with her mind to do her own preliminary search. It was her team after all and even though Jean was the co-Head of the academy along with Scott, the team and the mission was Emma's responsibility. Logan wasn't a regular member of her team either, but had volunteered to step in since Hank McCoy, otherwise known as Beast would be out of the mansion until later in the day. She felt almost grateful for him offering. The man had seen such death and destruction in his time that she knew she could count on him keeping things together with the team.

"Colossus, you and Karma head West. Northstar and Shadowcat to the East. Wolverine," Emma said using Logan's team name, "go with them please. Jean and I shall take the North. Everyone watch your step and don't hesitate to call out if you need us," the blonde telepath ordered, her mental faculties more than capable of sweeping out telepathically at the same time verbally issuing orders.

"While I'm sure you're all aware that Cerebra detected only the one unknown mental mutant signature here, we have no idea whether they are hostile or friendly. I'd rather not have this turn out violent," she gave Wolverine a stern look. "If I end up ruining these new boots I shall be very cross."

She eyed her teammates as they paired off, ignoring the projected juvenile-like comments coming from Kitty Pryde, aka Shadowcat.

Sighing Emma swept her mind a little to the East of where she was currently looking and brushed up against Jean's own mental fingers so that the two could work in tandem.

It was long, meticulous work, their minds making a grid of the part of the city they were working, sweeping back and forth, looking for any sign of life bigger than a rat. Part of Emma's mind began to drift as the rest of it went through the automated motions of searching the rubble.

_

* * *

_

_"Good Morning, class", Emma smiled tightly as she leaned back against the front of her desk. The sun shone brightly through the tall windows that covered the length of one of the walls of her classroom. It__'__s a beautiful day and she was feeling bubbly, almost happy. Seven high school students peer at her in different stages of morning fugue._

_"I have radioactive dog dirt on my shoes. There are luminous bird droppings on the statues of our beloved president Magneto._

_"Therefore, we shall not be singing the words to 'Genosha, Genosha, Promised Island, Mutant Utopia' this morning, with your usual tuneless gusto or otherwise._

_"Instead I propose we spend today's telepathy period hacking into the minds of some of our favorite screen idols._

"_A gold star to the first girl who discovers the awful truth about Tom and Nicole..." she offered with an amused tilt to her lips._

_"Miss Frost..." One of her students, Negasonic Teenage Warhead interrupts her. The girl is one of her favorites, even if she has atrocious taste in clothing and style. Goth is what they called it, which included the prerequisite black dress and the palest of white skin that was framed by the long black braids of her hair._

_"You think everything's just a joke, but I had the same nightmare fifty times last night and I'm having it again right now._

_Everyone's going to die."_

* * *

_*My mind keeps shying away from something here, but I think__…__ yes, someone__'__s there._*, Jean interrupted her thoughts then proceeded to lift them both up telekinetically, carefully flying them through the air.

_Far better than scrambling over broken buildings_, Emma thought to herself. Trying not to think about how her all white uniform was now an unsavory shade of gray was becoming a bit of a challenge. She didn't reply to Jean's thought immediately, instead continuing to work with the other woman to probe an area she was interested in.

_*This place needs a serious change in decor*,_ Emma broadcasts silently just far enough for Jean to hear her. *_Perhaps a little color... blue? What do you think?*_

_*Green_*, Jean replies simply.

_*Why am I not surprised? You do look fabulous in green however, so I can understand the bias.*_

_*Emma...*_ Jean's tendril of thought is hesitant as if she's knows even attempting to broach the subject of Emma's gallows humor would be unwelcome.

_*Don't try therapy on a therapist, my dear, it'll just make me laugh.*_

_*You're a sex therapist, it doesn't count*,_ Jean shot back, her tone slightly amused.

_*Oh touch__é__. Although technically I'm more than just a sex therapist, you shouldn't be so judgmental about my talents. It might have helped you with dear old Scott if you two had come to me before the divorce,*_ she replied harshly.

The love affair the two had had over the years had been rather nauseating to Emma and she'd been somewhat amused when it was finally broken under Scott's inability to deal with his blindness, damage done in battle and his subsequent removal from being on a team. The fact that his anal retentive devotion to rules and regulations made him a good match as a teacher and administrator of the school wasn't lost on Emma either. The irony made her positively giddy at times.

Silence was the only reply from Jean on that one and Emma felt a slight twinge of regret, even if she'd rather scoop out her frontal lobe with a dull spoon than admit it. And though she had never liked Scott, nor understood what Jean saw in him, she still regretted her words.

_*I apologize, Jean. That was a low blow, even from me.*_

Jean didn't respond, instead paying more attention to the unearthly silence of the dead city surrounding them.

_*There__...__ do you sense that?*_

Emma focused and both women grew still, frozen in mid-air, held up by Jean's power.

_*Yes.*_ Emma pointed mentally to a section of half-destroyed compound more easterly of their position that looked to have once been surrounded by a tall, high security wall. Whatever it was, it felt like looking into a dark closet and seeing nothing, even though there was child hiding in the dark with their eyes closed and whispering, 'You can't see me.'

They started to move again and soon Jean had them land safely on the ground, just past a broken down section of the wall.

_*Wolverine? We think we might have found our target. You're close...*_ Emma shared a mental picture of the building that they stood in front of. _*Bring your team and find a way around back. Jean and I will make our way inside.*_

Several large concrete barrack-like buildings inside the compound all surrounded a courtyard in the middle, the broken slabs of masonry still holding up a leaning flagpole. Purple tattered remnants of the three pronged red crown of Magneto's Genosha snapped in the breeze.

_*I believe this used to be one of the genetic testing facilities before the revolution. Magneto changed it to a prison to house some of the human scientists,*_ Emma said, her eyes trying to peer into the nearest building. _*It was one of the few buildings that remained after the Genosha Mutate rebellion. Magneto said it had history, but I never bothered to learn it. Too much else to do, to teach...*_

She shook her head as she held herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She could feel Jean's eyes on her but refused to look at the other woman. They were here for a mission and she refused to be treated like some broken doll.

_*Trust me Emma, you're not broken. Cracked here and there, but then aren't we all,*_ Jean replied quietly, catching what Emma believed had been a private thought.

_

* * *

_

_There was light ahead, something she hadn't seen in hours. Or was it days? She was having a hard time remembering precisely. _

_Ahead of her, in the light, there's a man, or possibly a lion she thinks. She pauses a moment, thinking she might know him, he's blue and furry after all, but then puts the thought aside. She can't afford to think about it at the moment, she has someone to save. Someone she's been caring for and holding for days._

_"Her name is Ellie Phimister. Her mutant name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She chose it herself..." she tells everyone who__is standing there as she walks up out of the hole and into the sun. It would help them to know who her charge is. She's so light in her arms, so frail._

_She thinks about how she always thought Ellie's mutant name was silly... childish. What was she going to do, after all, when she was no longer a teenager? Change it to Negasonic Adult Warhead and perhaps, after many years, Negasonic Geriatric Warhead?_

_It doesn't seem so silly now, she thinks as she blinks against the light. It's been too long since she's seen it. Hours? Days?_

_"She will be a credit to her family and other species. Get her to a hospital," she demands, her voice hoarse from disuse or screaming, she doesn't know. Turning, she gently hands over her student to two human emergency workers._

_"Her skin..." one of them trailed off, looking at Emma. "What's that all over her skin... she's a robot. She might be a sentinel."_

_Emma looked at the man as if he was the mess she had stepped in while walking through a park to work that morning. _

_"Get her to a hospital..." she repeated, the energy quickly running out of her as she bent over, her hands on her knees trying to keep herself erect._

_They looked at Ellie and slowly lowered her to the ground. One whispered to the other, but she could hear them._

_"The kid's dead."_

_"Then bring her back to life, you imbecile!" she screamed in fury, the energy it costs her bringing her to her knees._

_Another form comes forward and stops in front of her. Tall with bright red hair that flows down over her shoulders and back. She's looked at the other woman with concern._

_"My God, Emma Frost? Emma! She's one of us X-Men!"_

_Is she? She doesn't quite remember._

_"She's been dead for hours." The human is spoke again, but while she heard the words, they didn__'__t seem to mean anything._

_The red-head came closer, a look of almost horrific fascination and pity on her face._

_"Emma? It's me... Jean. Jean Grey," she said, reaching out and touching the kneeling woman's head. "Emma, what are you doing here? What happened to your skin?"_

_Emma's eyes focus as she looks at her own arm, studying how it glistens in the sun._

_"I have no idea," she answers, looking back up at Jean. "It got hard."_

_She looks away again, this time noticing her surroundings. It's strange. Alien. Burning. Ashes and dust._

_"What happened to everything?"_

_

* * *

_

_*Let's get this over with_*, Emma thought to Jean, falling further into depression. God she hated Genosha.

_*Emma?*_ Wolverine's mental projection was sloppy and haphazard, but she was easily able to reach out and connect with him. Not for the first time did she bemoan the fact that the experiments done on him long ago made telepathic communication difficult.

_*Status?*_ Emma asked him at the same time, quickly bringing the entire team in on the conversation. Colossus and Shadowcat slowly made their way to their position, but had further to go yet. Jean didn't think they could wait for much longer. Too much fear, she had said.

_*We're here. Lots of nice holes through the wall, so we did it pretty silent. Smells like death.*_

Emma raised an eyebrow in derision. _*Yes, well. The entire island smells like a charnel house, Logan...*_

_*This is newer. Not a lot of bodies... maybe just one or two.*_

She got the impression that he was sniffing. Which with his heightened scenes wasn't a pretty thought.

_*A couple of months old.*_

Grimacing she replied, _*Wonderful. We're going in.*_ Emma nodded at Jean and the two women started towards the nearest barracks.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** A Diamond in the Rough  
**Fandom/Pairing:** AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC Femslash  
**Disclaimers:** Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I? **Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version (so in response to Scott's blindness, no he was not blinded in the mainstream universe, but he was in mine. Many things are and will be different because logically if this was in the same universe, Scott and Emma would be a couple soon.) **Beta'd by Whedonist (1shinyboat) Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17/M. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.

**Please don't forget to review. Thank you!**

**Chapter Four**

"Gen-Oh-Shaw," I whisper, practicing to myself as I eat. I learn words that I don't always understand but I know I need to learn them. There is no voice in the tank to teach me, and no creche brothers and sisters to share the new words they've learned that day, so I must teach myself here and it's becoming easier the more I try. "Gen-Oh-Sha." I try again. Better this time, I think.

The sun is going down, which makes me feel better, safer. Too much space in this place, this Gen-Oh-Sha. Too much everything. We worked every day, taken out of the creche but the Outside wasn't like this. Things are different, everything is broken.

I haven't felt good since I woke up in this strange place. There was only the one Master here when she woke up. She had been Cleansed, laying on top of me when I opened my eyes. I had stayed by her side for days to protect her. That was part of my job, to protect my Master when we were out Hunting. I had tried to make her comfortable, wrapping her up in one of the blankets I had found and then laying down shiny trinkets and other things I thought she might like.

But I eventually left her, finding a new creche.

Choking down the remainder of the soft sweet, called a "Zing-er" I had scavenged earlier, I scoot further back into the broken building, to my creche. Unspoiled food was getting harder to come by since I had woken up, scavenging took up most of the day now and I have to roam further. The things I find though are mostly good, wrapped up in clear cloth or in cans. When I first entered a half-collapsed building and saw the rows upon rows of food, I wasn't sure if I was allowed, but hunger had driven me to eat.

My creche. I don't know what to call it. It's not my home anymore, it is my creche, but there's no one there but me. No brothers and sisters. No Masters to feed me, take me out to work or take me to the pleasure rooms. It's a dark hole, a closet I have learned, so close and comforting that it reminds me of the tank time but there is no fluid to surround me. Instead I have many blankets to huddle in and sometimes, if I pretend really good, I imagine the bundles pressed up against me are my brothers and sisters and I sleep better.

Most times I don't.

Most times I wake up almost screaming, only just able to hold back the noise.

There's no sisters and brothers here that I can sleep with.

I shudder as I walk in the dark with ease, finding my creche and burrowing into the blankets, feeling safer than I have all day since I left it.

It takes a long time, it always does now, but I finally fall asleep... and dream.

I dream of work.

I dream of Masters.

I dream of the last Master.

I dream of white and wake up in a cold sweat, panting in the dark. It takes time again, but I fall back asleep.

But today is different.

I have sensed others on occasion. At first there were a few Masters, then a few mutants that had come near, something I could tell automatically for that was the job I did for the Masters before. Hound they called me when I worked, able to track down the slaves that had run away. The collar no longer stopped me from sensing where others were. Dodging them all was easy. Master or mutant, I wanted nothing from any of them.

Lately more mutants have come to shape one of the giant machines into a monument, the plaque easier for me to read since I had woken up. I had no idea who Magneto was. But Gen-Oh-Sha meant the Master's land. Staying away from them all is the only way I know and when they left I had relaxed again.

But now I knew there were more mutants near and coming closer as if they could sense me like I could sense them. It was time to run and find another creche.

Far too many this time, surrounding me, cutting off any escape as I dodge behind walls and run down corridors until I'm panting and cornered, back to where I started, where the last Master is… where I left her. It seems fitting somehow.

Carefully I peek out one of the cracks in the wall, catching sight of two of the ones that have come.

They're flying.

I've never seen anyone fly. It makes my chest hurt… and my shoulders twitch. I wonder what it feels like to fly.

One of the fliers has long red hair and she's very pretty in green and gold clothes. Just looking at her makes me smile. The last time I smiled... it is hard to remember. A Master... her, the last one... gave me a sweet treat. She laughed as I ate it and then licked the wrapper clean, then my fingers, over and over. I dared to smile back up at her and wasn't punished.

The other is kind of hidden behind a tree that has been broken in half, but I can see flashes of white and blue eyes that suddenly snap to mine as if she knows exactly where I am.

_*You don't have to run.*_

I hear words in my head and know they do see me, easy enough since both are so still in the air and looking towards the spot where I am hiding. The others have gotten closer, the sense of them fuzzy and warm. Not like the bad slaves I had kept away from when they came here, but they are slaves... but not. They don't act like slaves.

Run. I leap up, catching the edge of the huge hole above me to the next floor.

"There she is!" shouts one of the others, his low voice almost a growl.

_Dark. Dark. Dark. Nothing here._

I dodge a set of arms then jump up again through a hole in the wall, scrambling up a set of pipes, squirming up through too another level.

"Need a lift, Emma?" comes a female voice and I pause in between the walls, looking out a small hole, not showing my face but just enough to...

It's the fiery-haired one. Her voice sounds like the words had in my head.

"And ruin this outfit? Besides, she likes you better," came a cooler voice, more Master-like and I know it's the snowy white one.

"Shhh... she's listening."

I sense the others but they're not as close as the two women, as if they have stopped closing in. Standing still, waiting?

"It's ok you know. We won't hurt you," says the nicer of the two.

Warmth and curiosity wash over me from the red head and I'm torn. I miss the creche but things are so different than from before and there's no real Master here. Trust no one.

"But you can trust us," she replies and I freeze, my body tensing.

The red head can hear me? Not good. Not good. Mutant. Slave.

"I'm not a slave. There are no slaves here," she says softly and comes closer up to the hole even though the snowy white one isn't helping her up.

I'm not sure if I believe her, the white one seems to find something humorous about what she said. Funny and sad at the same time.

FEAR!

Both wince and shiver in the light that is coming through the side of the building where they're floating, the fear running through them and all the others that are nearby.

"Well, that was strong," the white one grimaces up at me, but I feel as if it's not because of me. "No, you don't need to fear us."

I let the fear go in confusion. Always before that worked. Anyone who found me or saw me always recoiled in fear when I did that but not them.

Some of the others are worried, I sense, but they're still coming closer, from all directions and I know that I need to hurry if I plan on escaping.

The thought freezes me again. Why wouldn't I escape?

_*Because you don__'__t need to.*_

Not my thought again but not the red headed one. I blink and look at the snowy white one and can't help my lips as they twitch into a small smile when she winks at me. She's naughty that one, I can feel it.

"She's got you pegged," the first one says, the mirth from her washing over me, then she slowly reaches a gloved hand towards me, offering it. "Hi, I'm Jean."

I look at her hand in confusion. It's not close enough to grab me or pet me... and there's nothing in it.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Jean," the snowy white one rolls her eyes and I sense annoyance towards the other before she focuses on me again.

_*If you come with us, we'll make sure you're fed and bathed_*, I sense a bit of firmness about the last bit and blush. It's been too long since a Master has removed my suit and let me bathe. *_And I promise... I PROMISE_,* she says even more firmly._ *You may leave if you wish. We're here to help you.*_

I sense the others, all determined to find me and I know I've waited too long. All the tunnels and holes and ways are blocked.

FEAR. FEAR. FEAR.

_*I swear to you*, _the snowy white one looks me straight in the eye and I sense her... so strongly_, *you will not come to harm.*_

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers:** Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version; in other words some of the history and events are DIFFERENT. Beta'd by Whedonist (1shinyboat) Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17/M.

**Please don't forget to review. Thank you!**

**Chapter Five**

"Logan, did you have to hit her so hard?" Jean looked at him with disapproval.

"I figured it was easier to knock her out then have to spend more time tracking her. You're the ones who spooked her," the gruff man replied easily despite the burden in his arms.

Jean didn't doubt his good intentions and it had looked like their target was about to jump towards herself and Emma at the last moment, perhaps to attack them or jump past to escape, but Wolverine's interference had been unnecessary since she'd been planning on using her telekinesis to capture the woman if necessary.

Emma ignored the conversation between the two and studied their "guest" as they all started back towards the Blackbird.

She was tall, her long legs draped over Wolverine's arms as he carried her. The woman lacked muscle mass due to being emaciated but that was easily corrected with good nutrition and care. The one piece "catsuit" she was wearing was hideous, as if it was meant to draw the eye to it with geometric shapes and in colors that clashed. If the tattoos and numbers on her forehead were what Emma thought they were, the uniform made sense as another means of identification.

The woman's face was pressed up against Logan's chest, her silky black hair not even long enough to do anything but stick straight up. It was kind of cute, Emma decided, if you liked hedgehogs. A hedgehog in dire need of a bath.

The blonde telepath held on to the edge of the med-table where Wolverine had gently laid their new passenger while Jean set up the medical scanners. The rest of the team made themselves scarce, prepping the Blackbird for the one hour semi-ballistic sub-orbital flight back to their home and base just outside Salem Center, New York.

The gentle pressure against Emma's body was the only indicator they'd taken off, the Blackbird's advanced technology making the extremely fast vertical takeoff almost unnoticeable to its passengers. Emma considered for the umpteenth time to ask Forge, a mutant whose ability was to be able to create almost anything his creative mind came up with and who took care of much of the X-Men's technological needs, to replace her private corporate jet with one of the X-Jets. But in white, of course.

Emma ran a forefinger over the series of numbers and letters on the woman's pale forehead and frowned. There were a few scars on her face, faded into thin almost invisible lines except for one that bisected in a vertical scar that started above the woman's right eyebrow then skipped down over the eyelid, ending approximately one inch below it. It wasn't hideous at all, just a slightly more visible jagged silvery line. In fact, Emma thought they gave the woman a bit of character. Far better than the numbers designating her as property.

Their mystery woman was fine boned, looking as if even a touch would break her, with high cheekbones and an angular jaw line that swept down to a chin that had a rather adorable dimple in the middle of it. Her closed eyelids now hid the soft blue glow that had emanated from her eyes until she'd been knocked unconscious by Wolverine. Both Jean and she had seen the light shine out from the darkness where she'd been hiding, easily pinpointing her to them once they got close enough. Emma idly wondered if it was a permanent physical manifestation of her mutation or perhaps one that turned off and on.

"You know what these are don't you?" she turned her attention to the tattooed numbers and other markings on the woman's forehead and left side of her face, pointing them out to Jean.

"They're similar to Mutates that I've seen in the archives." Jean's fingers flew over the small holographic medical interface that hovered over her patient's body. Their medical facilities back at the mansion were far superior to the ones here but it was still far more advanced than most hospitals, able to scan the patient in a variety of ways without needing to touch them. It wasn't always possible for a doctor to touch their mutant patients, with some abilities being harmful or deadly.

First she examined the cranium and brain structure, making sure there was no permanent damage from Wolverine's over exuberance. "Hmm..."

"Just a very slight concussion, easily medicated and treated once we put in an I.V. She's malnourished, has a minor respiratory infection, probably from breathing ash day in and day out. Overall she's in far better health than I assumed when I first saw her. No physical abnormalities except for this." the red head's fingers flexed and the interface zoomed back out, rotated and then focused in on the upper back and shoulder blades.

Emma looked at the hologram but although she had rudimentary anatomical knowledge, she wasn't entirely sure what she was seeing, only that it was wrong somehow. She was pretty sure humans didn't have what looked like... knobs there.

"What is that?"

Jean changed to the musculature viewpoint first and then skeletal before answering her question. Pointing at one of the two, she double-tapped it so that the image was even larger. Emma could now see that the outermost part had been cleanly cut away and that what was left of the bone was hollow and had thinner walls than normal. Instead of the bone continuing out from the back it was covered with a thick mass of scar tissue.

"Barbaric!" Emma hissed angrily after realizing what she was looking at.

"Agreed," the other woman replied, "but at least it was done cleanly."

Emma's ice blue eyes shifted and narrowed at Jean through the hovering hologram between them. "I wonder if someone lobotomized you so that you could no longer use your telepathy if you would think the same? 'At least it was done cleanly.'" Again she reached out and brushed gloved fingertips on the unconscious woman's forehead. "She had wings, Jean and they cut them off!"

The other telepath didn't flinch at the admonishing tone and words, keeping her focus on her patient. "You're right but there isn't anything we can do about it at the moment," Jean paused for a second, catching a change in the vital readouts. "She's coming to. Keep her calm for me while I get an I.V."

Fingers still lightly touching the woman's brow, Emma carefully reached out to brush her mind against their patient's. The woman's mind was decently shielded despite having the feel of being untrained. Emma could barely sense her mind waking slowly, emotions dulled through the the woman's mental shield and her own gloves were the only outward sign.

"Hmm…" the blonde pulled her fingers away and began to slowly strip off a glove so she could get better contact. Skin on skin brought about a much closer intimacy than what normally occurred. "She's somewhat empathic, but we figured that." Emma referred back to the blasts of fear that the woman had sent out when they found her.

The world around Emma broke apart in white noise and darkness as the pads of her bare fingertips touched the woman's forehead. Head-splitting pain shot through her body for what seemed like ages until the pain abruptly shifted and agony became ecstasy. Every inch of her skin tingled and ached sweetly as her sense of the world around her shrank until there was only herself and the other woman, each wrapped up in the pleasure of both.

Empathy and telepathy merged until neither knew where the one began and other ended.

Names and places flowing back and forth between the two fast and seemingly without end. They could only ride out the tsunami that the two women had unleashed with a touch.

She knew what it was like to be a slave in ways that the Hellfire Club had only played at.

She knew what it was like to be used and thrown back amongst her own kind, bruised and crying, only to wake up the next day to hunt.

9031n73 was a hunter. A Hound whose only job was to detect mutants and protect its handler, it's Master.

Emma Frost was a X-Man. Free. A fighter and a schoolteacher.

The pleasure grew and grew, their bodies shuddering in orgasmic waves again and again, while memories merged with pure thought and pure feeling. It was like a movie that had been sliced from a dozen different reels into one; playing in their mind as an orchestra of pleasure played with their bodies.

Flicker. The feel of the floor beneath her wet body, green fluid covering her from head to toe. First breath.

Flicker. Her father's enraged eyes as he walks into the board room and see's her there, sitting in his chair with a smile on her face that he's only ever seen when he's looked into a mirror.

Flicker. Harsh fingers and groping hands as she's stripped for the pleasure of the Master at the end of the day.

Flicker. Cold beady eyes of old men as she walks through the halls of the Hellfire Club, their fantasies disgusting and prying into her own mind as she ignores them one and all.

Flicker. Fighting. Striking. Protect. Her arms and legs lash out with precision as the mutant they'd been hunting turns on the Master. Protect.

Flicker. Screaming in utter fury as she watched children die around her in the dark. Trapped.

All in a moment of time. Together. Wrapped up in such pleasure neither had known.

From a touch.

Mind.

Body.

Memories.

Knowledge.

One.

_*Who?*_

_*Who?*_

_*Emma Frost.*_

_*No, I'm Emma Frost. I am 9031n73.*_

_*No, I'm 9031n73. I am Emma Frost.*_

_*Entangled.*_

_*Yes.*_

_*You.*_

_*You.*_

_*Us?*_

With a cry Emma seized control of herself and…

The world dulled and senses deadened as Emma forced her body to change to diamond so that she could become head blind; effectively cutting the two women off from each other.

After what seemed like an eternity, they separated and Emma opened her eyes, her fingertips still touching n73…_Yes, that is what they called her!_ Emma realized as a wave of exhaustion sent her crashing to the floor of the Blackbird.

Breathing harshly she looked up to see…

Diamond wings.

Jean was using her telekinetic abilities to lift up their unconscious guest, making room for the huge wings that had ripped out of the back of her skinsuit. Wings made out of diamond.

Emma slowly exhaled, her breath trembling in aftershocks. Carefully she turned over and started pushing herself up from the rubber flooring of the Blackbird.

"How long?" she asked, her voice feeling like she'd been screaming for hours.

"One second? Two?" Jean looked back and forth between Emma and their patient. "You both… well, she's unconscious again. Exhaustion."

When Wolverine reached out to lend Emma a hand up, she shook her head and hissed, "Don't touch me! No one touch me..."

Carefully, her legs wobbly and unsure, she forced herself onto her feet, hands gripping the side of the med-bay bed.

"Ok, darlin'" Logan answered back, his voice even and seemingly unperturbed with the harsh response or what was happening to their floating patient. In fact he sounded amused.

She refused to look at any of them, just gazing up and down 9031n73's body, wings and all. Unable to cover up another full-body shudder, she noted that the woman's skin wasn't diamond, only the wings. Each individual feather was complete and even ruffled like real feathers when Emma experimentally blew on one.

"Well, while that was immensely pleasant," she spoke into the quiet room, her tone acidic, "I think it might be best if we don't touch her."

Jean cleared her throat delicately and nodded, "I can continue examining her with my TK." She paused for effect and asked softly, "Are you all right?"

Emma straightened her back and let her own diamond body shift back to normal, putting her mental shields up immediately. The entire situation was beyond embarrassing but she wasn't about to advertise the fact. It was bad enough that she knew Logan, with his enhanced sense of smell, could detect the result of the entire experience on her.

"I can't say it wasn't interesting," she allowed, finally turning to look her concerned teammates in the eye. "At least it's more pleasant than being touched by Rogue." Referring to the younger X-Man whose gift was absorbing other mutant's powers, thoughts and knowledge through touch. The consequence of her gift was that while the effect was usually temporary to her target, it had been known to leech out so much life energy that being put into a coma, or worse death, was a real possibility. Thankfully she'd gotten a better hold on her power, able to now focus hard enough that she could be safely touched. Not long ago, the young Southern woman's only ways to control her terrible power was to always wear gloves and keep the majority of her skin covered against accidents.

Wolverine sniffed heavily in the room, taking in the two lingering scents of arousal and chuckled deeply in response. "I'd say so."

_*Logan, if you proceed with that thought you shall find yourself waking up tomorrow morning with an insatiable need to wear a frilly pink dress.*_

His gulp was audible, but the lopsided smirk on his face showed her he was unrepentant.

"Please do feel free to all just stand there staring," Emma hissed as she pulled her glove back on, pleased when the rest of the team turned to head back to their seats.

She waited until they were all out of the area before looking at Jean. The red head was seemingly focused on their charge. Like magic, the rest of the skinsuit that their passenger was wearing was slowing being peeled off and a cotton hospital gown placed on her, her long limbed body twisting in the air for a moment before being gently lowered back onto the table, her wings cushioned underneath her. A small gauge needle was removed from one of the drawers and inserted into a vein in the unconscious woman's arm, then hooked up to a hanging bag of saline.

All of this in silence, Jean's telekinesis skills making short work of the problem.

Emma could feel a subtle probe skittering across her mental barriers and fought the impulse to sigh in annoyance. Now was really not the time, but she knew that Jean was concerned about the incident.

_*Before you ask, I'm just fine, thank you.*_

_*I should do some tests_,* Jean answered back silently. _*What happened from your perspective?*_

_*Besides the rather pleasant side-effects?*_ Emma's reply was tinged with amusement, sensing the other woman's discomfort.

Jean looked up and stared at her, her gaze turning thoughtful and accessing. _*Your mind feels stronger.*_ Her head cocked to the side as her mental fingers gently accessed the link the two had. _*Interesting.*_

Reaching out, Emma found her mind expanding out at a faster rate and speed than normal. She could hear the thoughts of the rest of the team at the front of the Blackbird with far more ease. Their usual mental discipline, skills learned to keep their own thoughts from projecting too much and thereby making it noisier for the team telepaths, seemed far more transparent than usual.

Unfortunately, it meant Emma was overhearing private thoughts about herself and their charge that she preferred not to.

_*It's as if I was hooked up to Cerebra,*_ she thought to Jean, referring to the powerful machine at the mansion built by Xavier years ago. The computer expanded a telepath's power immensely, built using alien technology and mutant ingenuity; it was a very useful tool. Both Jean and she used the machine to push their abilities, able to accomplish many feats that neither of them was capable alone. Being able to sense every living sentient being on the planet, and discerning whether they were mutant or human, was one of the reasons for the machine being built, and in this case, how they had found their current target. Being able to speak to anyone across the planet, despite the distance, was another.

Jean's look grew more thoughtful as she answered looking at her and then back at her patient with a furrowed brow. _*Do you think it's temporary?*_

_*We'll see...*_ Emma began to say, then looked down at the mutant they had found. Still keeping her link with Jean, she opened it up slightly so that she could experience the difference. At the same time her mental fingers reached out to their unconscious patient, surprised to find a half-decent mental barrier around her mind.

_*Wait,*_ Jean ordered and Emma paused, watching silently. She could see and feel her teammate's own mental faculties reaching out and touching the mental defenses of the stranger. _*How odd.* _

_*What?*_

_*Her shield feels like yours.*_

Emma raised an eyebrow. She'd have to take Jean's word on that. While she could tell the difference between other's minds, she really had no idea how her mind felt to other telepaths.

_*It's not as strong as yours usually is but it's like yours. It maps like yours, just weaker_.* Jean probed Emma's barrier, her thoughts tinged with curiosity. _*Yours is definitely stronger right now. Not quite Cerebra strength... Doubled perhaps?*_

The blonde telepath closed her eyes and reached out to fully test herself. She was normally one of the world's premier telepaths, along with Jean herself, but she knew her limits. Normally her range was several thousand miles, able to reach London or San Francisco from the centralized location of the school in New York.

Out and further out she stretched her mind, brushing over the bright mental aura's of men and women on boats that travelled on the ocean below their craft.

Further yet and the mental images and thoughts of more people as her consciousness reached land and flew over countries and cities. There was very little strain yet when she reached further and further out...

_*Ms. Frost?*_

Emma blinked, not seeing the plane around her or Jean standing across the medical bed between them. Instead her mind was filled with the bright shining thoughts of millions of souls, something she was used to, but not at this range.

*_Girls?*_ she replied mentally, instantly recognizing the Cuckoos, the four identical twin girls who she knew were currently back at the mansion. From the feel of it, she sensed they were in their room and not hooked up to Cerebra.

_*Ms. Frost, where are you?*_

_*We've just left Genosha dears and are heading back_,* she replied fondly before pulling her mind all the way back. Even the process of coming back to herself was faster than normal and held no twinge of discomfort.

_*I can reach the mansion and the girls,_* Emma told her, knowing Jean would know who she had meant. The Cuckoos, as they were called, were well known to be Emma's favorites amongst the student population.

*_That far?*_ the other telepath replied in surprise. *_We'll have to have Hank do tests on you both when we get back.*_

Hank McCoy, otherwise known as Beast and normally a member of Emma's team, was their resident doctor, who almost held as many doctorates in science than medical diplomas for the numerous fields he had studied in. Jean's own formidable intelligence and medical knowledge aside, she would be a far distant second to Hank's expertise when they got back to the school.

_*But we need to know what she can do. We can't all be brushing her skin and falling over in coital ecstasy,_* Emma finished her thought with amusement.

Jean's green eyes twinkled at her, _*That good hmm?*_

Emma opened up their link slightly and replayed the moment, her lips curling up in a very wicked grin.

*_Oh... my...*_

TBC_  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Please don't forget to review. Thank you! I'd love to hear from some readers that I haven't heard from before. ;)  
**

**Chapter 6**

_The world around me is strange. Different. Full of people I've never seen even though a part of me, an alien part of me, seems to recognize them._

_Some stride down halls covered with pretty paper and lit by candles on the walls. Some walk with their heads bowed and delicate chains hanging from their necks to their wrists, and between their ankles, all while carrying trays. Older men lounge in big comfortable chairs, drinking and smoking cigars and fondling men and women who stand quietly near them as they talk about money and power._

_I walk down the halls with my head held high, my cape flowing behind me like wings. I'm beautiful. I'm powerful. I'm feared. I'm a force of nature in a world of influence and sexual decadence. I can almost hear them whispering, telling each other what they want to do with me._

_As if they have the will or the nerve. No one makes me fall to my knees. No one makes me beg. _

_I'm also not wearing much. _

_The thought is momentarily jarring as I see a glimpse of myself in a tall, ornate mirror on the wall._

"…she's exhibiting the ability to duplicate certain mutant energies…"

_Then the world continues to violently swirl and change in color. Suddenly, I'm standing in front of a pretty young brunette chained to a wall, my white gloved hand caressing her intimately as I press my mind down on hers. When I laugh at the tears running down her face a part of me feels ashamed and a part of me is excited by it. She's so young and innocent, yet she still knowingly walked into my trap._

_Then it's a hard rush of fury running through me as I watch her escape by walking through the wall. _

_Katherine Pryde. Kitty._

"…musculature and skeletal density is abnormal… somewhat avian in nature…"

_For a moment the thought is disturbing, as if I know I shouldn't recognize the name, but I do, just as I recognize who is pressing me up against the stone wall with their forearm against my throat. The winds around us are fierce, bending the trees, making them worship the woman whose eyes are white and filled with anger. It's a storm… no, she is Storm. I don't recognize the name but I know it somehow and it doesn't matter because I'm laughing in her face, into the very real possibility of my death and she throws me through the air and into a tree._

_The world changes around me. Again strange and different._

"…hold her down…"

"Hank! Be caref…"

"Oh my stars and garters!"

"…cute tail, Hank."

"…her furry blue wings…"

_I'm younger and shorter, looking up at a man who instills both fear and hatred in me as he yells down at me; berates me for not being the daughter I should be, even as the joy of him picking me to be his heir still tingles along my skin. I hear the crack of his hand on my cheek before I feel the pain of it and the tears of frustration and pain run down my cheek. Running to my room, chased by his cruel taunts and the laughter of my sisters, and I swear to myself I'll make him pay._

_Confusion washes over me then. I don't even know what a daughter is. What does it mean? I know brother and sister. I know creche. Home. Home._

"…DNA analysis shows Warren…"

"…explains her unusual body struct…"

"…Calvin R… Mimic"

"…no correlation for mitochondrial DNA. Mother unknown…"

_Again the world changes._

_I'm older, if not wiser. Tall and commanding like before, but standing at the head of a group of children. Teaching them with pride._

_Then I'm screaming with impotence as they burn. Their flesh crisping and charring slowly until finally they blow away as ash before my eyes._

_Flames and the touch of sound as the earth trembles, knocking me down to my knees, making the world collapse into darkness. The cries of children around me, scared and whimpering for their parents as the dark swallows us whole. Hours and days of pleading with them, consoling them and holding them as they die one by one. Then silence._

_My heart calms… or maybe it stops. I don't feel anything. Just darkness around me. Long days of darkness. Until there's another rumble, this one small and unlike the fearful sound of the pile of settling building on top of you. I walk towards the light, a part of me irritated by the very thought because everyone knows you're not supposed to walk towards the light if you want to live. I try not to laugh at the humor of the situation, teetering on the edge of sanity, because I'm carrying someone. Someone special._

_I look down at her as she sleeps soundlessly in my arms. Short, ragged black hair and a too pale complexion flickers and then she's different, with bright, shimmering blonde hair and a beautiful face that I know, that I've seen a million times in the mirror. It's me, I realize, but not. I'm not her. The first was me. This is her. I'm dreaming._

"…twenty-eight minute initial transformat…"

"…shorter time than mine…"

"…not as dramatic as yours either, Emma."

"Jealous?"

"Ladies, please… mild sensation…"

I wake up slowly, the sound of low voices near me. My back aches and I feel the need to cough phantom ash out of my lungs. Blinking carefully I open my eyes into the room and know instantly I'm somewhere new. Even with my back protesting slightly I sit up and…

And see a giant, dark-blue furry man looking at me from the foot of the bed.

He looks faintly like a cat that I saw once. Wearing glasses and a white coat. Big teeth. Lots of really big, white, sharp teeth.

I blink again since I figure I'm still dreaming and try to shake my head; trying to wake up. But no, when I open them again it's… he's still there, looking at me instead of eating me. I reach out and sense him, confirming he's a mutant, but I've never seen a mutant that dresses like him. Only Masters... No, that's not the right word now. He's a doctor and there are no Masters.

Only even thinking that thought confuses me more. It's as if new information is in my head. It's happened before; it's how I learned to read when my siblings couldn't. I always learned faster when the collar was turned off.

"Well good morning," he says. "Hello. My name is..."

"Doctor Hank. Hank McCoy," I finish for him, and then blink again in surprise.

"How curious. And might I ask how you knew that?"

I point at the name sewn into his white coat. I'd always been punished when I spoke about understanding letters and numbers before so I keep my silence, my eyes immediately going down to my lap, where I set my hands. The Masters didn't like that I learned from them when the collar was turned off, just by being near them. It's how I learned to read and learned a few other things. They didn't turn off my collar often; only to hunt.

"Hmm. Well, you're correct, my name is Doctor Hank McCoy, but you may call me Hank if you wish," he offers as he reaches out to help me sit up a little and places more pillows behind me. I look up again, hesitant but there's no punishment. No trick. Reaching up to my neck, I find only my skin, the collar gone. Nobody to stop me from reaching out and sensing him. No sense of hatred or cruelty, just sadness and curiosity only.

I've never had a pillow before. Masters had pillows.

I have a pillow but no collar and there's no punishment, no hate. Whatever this place is its… odd.

"Hello again."

I turn slightly and look at the woman standing near my head. It's the red head from before. The nice one. Jean. Phoenix. Marvel Girl.

"I'm Jean," she says smiling down at me. I remember the smile and smile back a little, then I frown, my pulse speeding up and fear shivering its way up my spine. I remember. Hiding in the dark, two women talking to me, but sensing others close. Trapping me. Then only pain and darkness for a time. Then pleasure and dreams. Pain and then a great weight trying to pull me down even as I hover in the air.

But I'm not so sure about any of it. I'm not sure about anything right now. She doesn't have a white coat, but I know her name. I didn't learn it… I know it. Strange.

"I'm sorry about Logan hitting you. He thought you were going to run." Her kind green eyes seem to be asking me to believe her and forgive.

I feel no deception from her. No lying. I feel weak and don't understand why I'm here or where here is. I don't understand what is happening but I know how to wait. Orders usually come eventually. Punishment if I don't wait, so I wait.

I've been alone for a long time now, but I've been trained to know what is expected of me. It's still confusing; these don't seem like slaves, even though I sense they're mutants. And they aren't treating me as if they're Masters. And then there's that part of me that knows things I shouldn't. I know they aren't Masters. I know they aren't slaves. They're… friends?

The sense of someone coming closer makes me whip my head around towards the open door. I know who it is before she strides through; even as I know it wasn't because of how I usually sense things; like how I hunt mutants for the Master. Then she walks into the room, in all white. Blonde. Beautiful.

It's the other woman from before. The naughty one. How did I know? It's confusing. Lots of things confusing today.

"We aren't treating you like we're Masters because you are not a slave." The snowy white one says it, and it echoes the new information inside of me, so I believe it.

Emma. Emma Grace Frost.

That's her name. I know it. I don't know how I know it, but I do.

I hadn't said it out loud, but her head jerks as if startled and I know she's heard me say her name, just as I heard her talking to me in my head before.

She stands stand next to Jean and looks at me oddly as if I've done a particularly good trick.

_*Can you hear me?*_

"Yes," I reply, again confused. I heard her before, so why wouldn't I hear her now. Maybe she hit her head and forgot?

"Tsk. No, I didn't hit my head," she rolls those pretty blue eyes, "but how did you know my name? You aren't telepathic."

She sounds sure about that and since I don't know what telepathic is, I believe her. Then it comes to me, the information, as if it's been hiding inside waiting for me to think about it.

"It means you can't talk in our heads. However, Emma and I can hear your thoughts and talk in your head because we are telepaths," the one named Jean explains and I nod slightly, hesitant to make much movement.

"I don't know how I know," I reply and look down at my lap, knowing it's not a good enough answer but not knowing what to say.

Annoyance. Malevolence.

Someone's coming, their emotions searing my head with how strong they are; and then it's shut away like a door's been closed, but not completely. In reflex I hop off the table and leap past Jean, Doctor Hank and Emma taking a step forward as if to catch me, their worry and apprehension sharp. A needle and other wires rip from my body as I move, and it only takes a second and I'm at the far side of the room away from the door as he walks through it.

He's tall, light with brown hair and his face is half covered by a shiny piece of metal, covering his eyes. He's frowning as he looks at the other three, his gaze following theirs to me.

My sense of him is dulled now as if he's far away, but the emotions are still there, hiding behind a buzzing sound that tickles my head. He's suspicious. Doesn't like me. He feels like some of the crueler Masters that have handled me. I can feel it. I don't like it or him.

Sharp pain rips through me, a sudden weight on my back pulling me off balance and I feel the need to stretch out, not with my arms but…

Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye and I spin trying to see it. But then I spin the other way, not wanting to take my eyes off _him _and the movement sends me off balance. Panting and trying to keep upright I reach out with my right hand and press it against the wall as if it will hold me up.

Then I see and feel shimmering wings spread out on either side of my body. It's as if one is trying to help me balance, while the other beats helplessly against the close wall and pulling me off balance.

"What's going on here?" The stranger's voice is harsh, loud and commanding and I find myself trembling with fear.

Not a stranger. Scott. Cyclops. Summers.

This is wrong. Not right. I want to curl up and cradle my head. Where is all this coming from?

"Scott…"

Jean says his name as he pushes past Emma, shoving her out of his way.

Annoyance.

Dismay.

Anger.

Their emotions beat on me and I pull my sense inwards in reflex. Then there's only anger, my anger. He touched her. He pushed her.

"Scott back off!" Emma yells as I swipe at him with a shiny wing. The outermost feather catches him on his chest just as Doctor Hank grabs him by the collar and yanks him away from me. A sense of satisfaction and glee ripple through me as I notice the slice through his clothes and the thin, red line along his skin.

Then I'm frozen, held in place and no amount of struggling is helping.

_*Stop. Stop panicking,*_ Emma orders me and I automatically submit and relax, the pressure around me gradually failing and I fall to my knees, panting.

Hunched over my knees, these wings covering me, hiding me from them, I feel shame and wait for punishment.

But none comes. Only two pairs of soft gentle hands, one gloved pair running through my hair, the other along my gowned back between my wings.

My breath catches.

I have wings?

I do. I feel them tremble as I think about them and I can feel the shift and subtle flow of the air around them moving from breaths and moving bodies.

Wonder.

Even the sounds and raised voices as he is asked to leave don't faze me as I slowly stand up, gently moving back from both women and ignoring _him_ even as he walks out the door.

It's like having two more arms. I carefully flex, slowly stretching out and out until there's no more room.

I blink and struggle not to turn around like a cat chasing its tail.

"They're beautiful."

I look at Emma and smile shyly back at her. I've never had heard that word used before… not about me.

"She's right," Jean assures me from somewhere close behind me. I can hear a smile her voice even though I can't see her.

"Jean, perhaps you shouldn't…" Doctor Hank starts to say but she ignores him and I can feel her fingertips carefully touching one of my feathers.

I shiver, as if my hair is being petted and the remaining tension in my body disappears.

"Anything?" Emma asks, looking past me and I carefully turn only my head, not wanting to disturb Jean's touching me.

"Nothing and they aren't changing like they did when Hank accidently touched her," Jean replies but looks me in the eye with a look that I've never seen, as if she's apologizing to me. The question must be obvious in my eyes since her voice tickles in my head. _*We don't mean to talk about you as if you aren't here.*_

That's a bad thing? Masters always did that.

_*That's all gone now. Things are different,* _she replies, having heard my thoughts.

Starting to feel the strain from holding my wings out, I slowly bring them closer in, then instantly freeze as she snatches her hand back, sticking a finger in her mouth and sucking on it.

I reach out just a bit to sense her and feel a sense of comfort aimed towards me as Jean removes her finger from her mouth. "It's ok. I should have been more careful. It's not your fault."

Seeing red start to seep out from the small wound I silently disagree and turn to look at Doctor Hank who immediately leans close to her to examine the cut.

"They're diamond," Emma whispers, looking closer at my wings.

"Not glass?" Doctor Hank asks as he finishes wrapping a small Band-Aid around Jean's finger.

"I know diamond, Hank. Intimately. Definitely organic diamond like mine. The feathers and wing structure are flexible as if they were made of flesh. Hmmm…" She turns those blue eyes on me, looking into mine for a long moment. I sense only curiosity from her. "Would you try to do something for me?"

It's not a command, but a request.

"Okay."

"Think of your wings. Think of them changing."

I blink in confusion but do as she asks, turning my attention solely to my wings. The weight of them. The tension in the joints. The feathers, skin and bone. All diamond. I'm not sure what she means by changing them. These are all I know. Diamond wings.

And then it comes to me. They're not all I know. I was sleeping but I remember faint words from outside filtering in.

I picture my wings changed and different and… the discomfort is manageable and I'm not too startled as my wings shrink to nothing. The weight gone and then suddenly it's back as my wings burst out from my back again. Different and yet I know them. My wings.

Blue and furry wings. I can't help a small giggle from escaping as I see Doctor Hank's eyes widen in surprise.

Three sets of eyes look at me, but I don't need to sense them to tell that there's no fear or hate. Their admiration and curiosity is there for me to feel though and I bask in it for a moment, awed and confused by these feelings others are having towards me.

I wonder again if it's all a dream.

"Intriguing," Doctor Hank murmurs as he hesitantly reaches out to touch the outlying edge of one of my wings. It trembles under his hand as if it knows him. An odd thought.

Jean carefully steps around me, catching my attention.

"Do you have a name?"

"9031n73," Emma answers before I can my startled look echoed by her own. "Now how did I…"

Jean looks at her, slightly pensive. "How did you…"

"Well, her forehead would be the obvious answer, wouldn't it?" she answers but I can sense she doesn't quite believe that and it bothers her. "Either way, I refuse to call you a number; it's just demeaning." Emma taps her chin with one of her nails, her eyes almost glassy as she considers the situation for a moment and then they almost sparkle with mischief. "I have the perfect name for you, my dear."

Jean's eyes narrow at her, as if she can hear her thoughts. "Emma..."

The blonde just laughs highly amused and I smile at her. I like her laugh. It's not like Jean's which is soft and reminds me of a bright flower I saw once. Emma's laugh sends a shiver down my spine and wraps around my torso to sink into my belly with a tingle. "Come on Jean, you have to admit Angelica, or maybe just Angela, fits her."

"Personally, I would have chosen something more circumspect, but you're right; it does indeed suit her." Doctor Hank smiles at me, showing his amusement. "It is your choice of course, but I think it's a lovely name. Angelica or Angela? Do you like either of them?"

A name. I would have a name. Not 9031n73 or n73? Not mutant? Slave? A name like the Masters had names… no, like Emma and Jean and Hank have names.

Still looking into Emma's eyes, I cock my head slightly, silently asking her opinion.

"Well, I prefer Angela myself, but he's right, it is your choice," Emma frowns slightly and I can feel the slight sense of disapproval coming from her. I don't know why but somehow my silent gesture, begging for her opinion and approval disturbs her. "Call yourself Bob for all I care."

"Emma!" Jean admonishes, smacking her on the arm.

"Angela." I whisper it, tasting it on my lips. I like it.

My eyes are still glued on Emma, searching for some hint… of what, I don't know. "Angela," I say it again and nothing comes up. It sounds pretty but doesn't mean anything to me. "What does it mean?"

Jean clears her throat before replying, "It means angel in another language."

I barely even acknowledge the amusement coming from her as what that word means comes to me. The knowledge isn't like how I learned a skill, like reading, from the collar being turned off and learning from the Masters. It's familiar… it tastes like _her_ I realize, glancing at Emma.

His image surges up in me, a blonde man with enormous white wings and skin that changes back and forth from blue to normal, just as his costume changes, shifting from one to another to yet another. All have a golden halo on the chest.

Warren. Angel. Warren Worthington the third.

"It would be best if you called Warren now, Hank." Emma's lips just barely twist down into a frown as she pauses and looks at me for a moment, then turns to walk over to one of the computers on the far side of the room. I watch her walk, confident and in control, the muscles of her calves flexing under the white material of her pants catching my eyes. I bring my wings closer to my body trying to make myself smaller, imagining myself walking like that.

"Emma, if I didn't like you so much, your predilection for picking up stray thoughts and using the information without consent would be aggravating. I know for a fact that I only shared that with Jean," Doctor Hank says as he gently motions me back towards the bed and then crosses the room to pick up the phone. My wings are tired and my stomach rumbles, as I carefully try to sit and get them to lie down on my back. They don't obey well. Then I remember I didn't have wings before and I think about them going away.

Again the discomfort and then they disappear into my back. I feel like I've done something right and I let myself feel good for a moment before Emma's voice catches my attention again. No one seems to be looking at me or have noticed that my wings have disappeared. I'm tempted to see if I can get them back, but the ache in my back and my hunger convinces me to put it off for now.

"What Hank should be telling you, is that we know who one of your fathers is and if you're lucky, you shall meet him tonight," Emma answers my question, her fingers flying over a keyboard, still not looking at me. Her emotion has changed to amusement now which eases my own thoughts of her and settles the discomfort inside of me. A part of me wonders why I'm so disturbed at her reaction of how I reacted to her.

I look back and forth between the two women. "What is a father?" I say it before the knowledge of it seeps up into me and I can't help gasping and looking at Emma in fear and pain. Along with that information comes the reason why she doesn't like me acting… subservient. Yes, that's the word. It reminds her of a painful time and a pleasurable time and how she hates where I came from.

Conflicting. Confusing. How do I know these things? How do I know they come from her? She said I'm not telepathic.

At my question, only Emma turns to look at me and I know she's seeing my thoughts again and I can sense it's disturbing her. We both ignore Doctor Hank's soft telephone conversation in the background, Jean's laugh and just stare at each other, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.

Doctor Hank hangs up the telephone and walks over to me, a small hitch in his step as he sees my wings are gone.

"Hank, may I speak to you a moment?" Emma turns and abruptly walks out of the room. I realize I can't sense her anymore and it's not because of distance. She's shut herself off. She feels like… my shiny wings, the diamond ones.

I blink a few times then turn towards Jean.

"I don't understand anything," I whisper to her, taking comfort in her smile and her kind green eyes.

"I know," she pulls up a stool and sits next to me and pats me on the thigh, where my gown is covering me up. "How about you tell me about yourself, Angela?"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Please don't forget to review. I'd love to hear from new people. Thank you!  
**

**Chapter 7**

Warren leaned casually against the back wall of the faculty dining room and studied the woman Hank had said was basically his daughter. A daughter in her mid to late twenties, perhaps the same age as himself. Add that to the fact she had really only been alive for nine years, having been grown like some genetically engineered plant, and had come from the past, from Genosha no less, and his mind was in shock from the absolute absurdity of it all. As one of the founding members of the X-Men, Warren had seen a lot of strange and puzzling things in his career but this was more personal and far more confusing to him.

"She looks like she's about to pass out," the tall, blond man said softly as Emma came to stand beside him and study Angela intently.

Emma had volunteered to answer questions he might have after Hank had spoken to him in private. She'd been rather surprised she'd offered actually, since she'd made it well known in the past that she wasn't overly keen on emotional conversations. For some ungodly reason Emma was feeling rather responsible for the woman.

The two watched as Angela's body jerked awake after almost doing a face plant into her dinner.

And wasn't that just humorous when Hank had told him the name they'd come up with.

Angela.

With his team codename being Angel it wouldn't take too much to see her sprout wings and put two and two together. No way to hide it now. Hell, even without the wings he could see himself in her. That long, lithe body. His mother's nose. Lots of little things, added up with the wings that Hank had said were amputated and Warren knew the DNA analysis was correct.

"Emma, what am I supposed to do here? With her?" Warren turned away from watching his daughter towards Emma and ran a nervous hand through his blond locks. "For God's sake. I'm a millionaire Playboy with blond hair and blue eyes. I'm a walking, talking cliché of upper class America who just happens to also have a pair of white wings to round out the picture that is named Angel. The perfect Playboy mutant power isn't it? I don't have siblings. I don't have children. I rarely have a woman that lasts long enough to be called a girlfriend. Tell me what I'm supposed to do here?"

"If it bothers you that much, don't try to be her father. You're almost the same age so perhaps a sibling," Emma turned her head and give him a stern look, letting him know she wouldn't approve of him messing this up. "She's had an extremely unusual upbringing, Warren. Angela never had parents. She had siblings and Masters, that's it, so perhaps if you treated her as a sister? She would be far more comfortable with having a sibling."

Emma went silent and watched her charge, feeling only somewhat compassionate towards Warren and his discomfort as he watched this new person that had just been thrust into his life. She was rather pretty all cleaned up and dressed in something other than the hideous skinsuit or the hospital gown. Her tattoos were all gone now as well, Hank having re-programmed the special nanite gel that they used to heal wounds to remove them. The thin silvery scar over her right eye was another matter entirely and without the tattoos to distract the eye, it seemed more visible somehow. Not horrific, just noticeable.

"Speaking of women that last long enough to be called girlfriend, how are Betsy and you doing?" Emma asked quietly, making small talk.

Warren shrugged, his huge white wings ruffling softly. "Sometimes good, sometimes bad. I haven't had time to tell her about this."

"It's only been a couple of hours, Warren."

He sighed and crossed his lean, muscular arms over his chest defensively. "It's just not fair. I didn't ask for this!" he hissed.

"Oh, do quit acting like a petulant child, Warren. It doesn't suit you." Emma kept her sight on Angela, what little compassion he had for Warren disappearing in a flash. Despite her own unease around the woman, she felt for her far more than her biologocial parent apparently did. Emma had seen the life Angela had come from and it would take a far colder heart than her own to not understand.

"Hank said she has wings? I don't see any. Is he really sure she's my…"

Emma cut him off harshly. "She's yours. I know you believe it, Warren, so quit playing games." Her voice softened. "Her wings were amputated not too long after she was birthed… removed from the tank where she was grown. Part of her power seems to be that she's able to copy mutant abilities and transform them into a set of wings for herself. Tomorrow, after she gets some sleep, Hank is going to try a couple of experiments to see what kind of powers she copies. It should be enlightening. You're welcome to stay of course. We can even put you in the guest room in the same wing as hers, if you wish."

"That… that would be fine, Emma. Thank you." Warren cleared his throat and continued. "I'm sorry about what I said. It's just so confusing and such a surprise."

"I know, Warren. But if it's all so confusing to you, imagine what it's like for her."

The man they called Angel hung his head in shame for a moment. He knew he was being selfish and a bit of a jerk, but how did one go about introducing oneself to a virtual stranger?

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, hearing Warren's thoughts. Really, the school had enough children in it that they didn't need a full grown adult like Warren acting like one of them.

"Take her a dessert, Warren. I'm sure she'll be appreciative since Hank has her diet being bland for the next few days. She already knows a little about you, so you don't need to go overboard. Perhaps if you plan on staying, you might offer to teach her how to fly."

Warren swallowed audibly then stood straighter. He reached out blindly and squeezed Emma's hand in thanks before letting her go. "Yeah… I can do that. Thanks, Emma."

Emma opened the door to her office and strode in. It wasn't furnished in all white and modern furnishings as her corporate office in Manhattan, but this one still shouted Emma Frost with its opulently upholstered furniture, forest green walls and real mahogany paneling. Towering bookshelves and her favorite paintings littered the walls. It was more masculine than she normally preferred, but it seemed to fit her mantle as teacher here. Plus, with the fireplace on the outer wall, it was a nice room to sit and enjoy a glass or two of bourbon while grading papers. After all, there was only so much time she wanted to spend secluded in her own suite upstairs.

She smiled faintly as a cat meowed from outside her open window. A slinky figure hopped onto the windowsill and immediately came over to her, weaving in and out between Emma's ankles, greeting her vocally.

"Well you're in a good mood today," Emma muttered fondly and squatted down to give her companion a warm caress. Even after all this time she refused to think of Sharon as a pet, even if she did pet her like one on occasion. Despite her cat-like demeanor, she actually was the sole surviving member of the original super powered teenage group, the Hellions. Sharon Smith, codenamed Catseye because she could turn into a purple furred housecat or lion-sized version, had been the only survivor besides Emma herself. If that's what you'd call living in your smaller cat-form, refusing to change back to human or speak to anyone. With Sharon being more cat than mutant now, Emma despaired of ever being able to heal her of her trauma to function normally ever again. But that didn't mean Emma gave up trying.

"Did Kathryn remember to feed you while I was gone?" Emma asked softly. A quite mental nod of assent was her only answer, but at least it was an answer. "Well, I do hope she didn't feed you cat food like Robert did. That was the first and _last_ time I'll ever ask him to watch out for you. I swear that man is about as smart as a… Yes, yes I know you like him." Emma answered when Sharon swatted her hand in reproach.

Emma sighed as she stood back up and walked to the huge walnut desk with the small purple-furred cat following and hopping up to make herself at home on a stack of papers on her desk. "We have a new resident if she stays. I think I'll ask her to join the weekly therapy group. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Mroow."

"I'll just take that as resounding assent."

Sitting down she nearly groaned out loud at how tired and sore she was. There had hardly been any time today to eat, let alone take a bath to loosen her muscles and relax. There was never any time lately to just relax. Teaching. X-Men missions. Frost International. Those damnable nightmares that she hoped were now passed, now that they'd found Angela. It wouldn't be the first time that she wished there were three of her, perhaps four like her Cuckoos. It would make life so very much easier for her. Of course, it would also bring its own series of headaches but it might just be worth it.

_Unfortunately,_ she thought to herself, _creating more clones of oneself was a tad expensive and the other X-Men would likely disapprove. Mores the pity._

A sharp rap on her door startled her momentarily before she sent her mind out to see who was bothering her at this time of night. Wincing at the uncomfortable mental noise as the door opened without invitation she wished for a moment that she had telekinesis like Jean, so she could hold the door shut on her late night visitor.

Scott Summers, headache extraordinaire.

Emma centered the stack of quizzes a substitute teacher had thoughtfully left for her from the day's Ethics and Morals class she usually held.

"What do you want, Scott? It's late. I'm not in the mood for company and I have papers to grade," she greeted coolly as she uncapped her red pen and started on the first one.

Checking the second answer as incorrect, she underlined a specific word in the question and carefully wrote alongside it in her crisp print. **Mr. Vaccarro, the question demands you compare the definitions of morality, ethics and values ****in your own words****. I will not accept the tripe you memorized off of Wikipedia.**

"I thought we might chat for a moment, Emma," Scott replied calmly as he made himself at home, taking a seat across from her.

Emma sighed heavily, pressing her pen a bit more forcibly into the paper than was actually needed. "And what is it you wish to chat about Scott?"

"Your little unauthorized field trip to Genosha."

Lifting her head up she looked straight at him, visualizing where his eyes would be if they weren't covered by the visual aid Forge had created for him. Instantly she let her face drop into the unemotional mask she had long ago mastered.

"Jean happens to be the co-headmaster, in case you have forgotten Scott. She approved it. In fact, she suggested it," she answered, her words sharp.

"I should have been consulted," he insisted, leaning forward.

Emma sat back into the padded back of her leather chair and glared at the insufferable man. "Why? Jean had it covered."

"I'm in char…" he started to sputter then stopped and took a less antagonistic approach, copying Emma's own relaxed posture. "I should be consulted in any mission or X-Men related trips."

The fact that this was not her concern was not lost on Emma, so she refused to answer and back to grading her papers. Really, if the man was unwilling to speak to Jean about something that was in her purview, what was Emma supposed to do about it? Hold his hand? Not likely. Jean had held his hand for years through all the trials and tribulations that made up their marriage and look what that had gotten her.

"Anything else you wish to discuss or are we done? I have a nice bottle of burgundy breathing in my quarters and a hot bath calling my name. I've been up since before the crack of dawn and all of the children are asleep, and to be frank, Scott, I'm more interested in correcting quizzes than 'chatting' with you."

"She's dangerous."

Emma looked up in surprise and blinked at him. "What? Jean? Scott have you been dipping into Hank's pharmaceutical supply?"

"The woman you brought back from Genosha. She's dangerous. She shouldn't be allowed near the children," he demanded firmly.

"I see," she replied, her tone taking a rather amused turn. "And you believe she's dangerous because you shoved me out of your way in the infirmary and she took exception by leaving a scratch on your chest?"

Scott again leaned forward, this time his hands slapped down on the edge of the desk startling Sharon out of her comfortable spot on top of Emma's desk to sprint towards the open window. "She could have cut me in half!"

Emma's eyes hardened as she saw the purple tail of Catseye disappear in the night and her teeth ground as she turned back to the ex-X-Man before her. "You're obviously over-reacting. Again. Perhaps you should go to bed, Scott."

She watched as he ran a shaky hand through his short hair, seemingly trying to get his emotions under control. Emma didn't know what was going on with him, and he didn't seem to be sharing with anyone, but these testosterone driven temper tantrums and accusations of his had to stop.

"Look, Emma, I don't want to fight, especially about her. You're probably right. I'm not giving her a chance. She's a victim. I… I'll try to keep that in mind and follow Jean's lead on this," he offered, almost timidly.

"That would be best. I've found Jean to be a good judge of character," Emma allowed neutrally.

"She always was, even about you before you joined the X-Men," Scott smiled slightly, teasingly.

"Yes, well... I'd rather not know what she thought of me back then."

"Not as badly as you seem to think."

Emma fought not to sigh again. All she really wanted was to finish her work and relax. "Anything else you wish to discuss, Scott?"

She watched as he started fidgeting in his chair at her question and she wondered what he was going to bring up now to waste her valuable time.

After a few minutes watching him, she prodded him. "Yes? I'd really rather not just sit here and…"

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner this weekend," he blurted out.

Emma shut her mouth with a surprised click of her teeth. Scott Summers, ex-husband of Jean Grey and lately the royal pain in the ass of Xavier's School of Higher Learning, wanted to go out on a date? Surely God was laughing. If not him, Loki. Loki was just enough of an ass to do this to her.

"Dinner? As in a date?" she asked and had to keep herself from wincing visibly. How very high school sounding of her, she thought. She'd be amused at herself if she wasn't already rather uncomfortably surprised.

"Yes?" Scott replied with a hopeful lilt to his deep voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Emma instantly brought her own surprise under control while trying to keep her face and her voice as calm and unemotional as possible. Not that she was interested, but if the man couldn't even tell whether or not he was asking her out on a date, he deserved to be single.

"While I do appreciate the offer, Scott, I'm afraid I'll be busy looking after our new resident."

If he didn't have that hideous visor covering his eyes, she knew she would see his brow furrowing. As it was, there was a slight frown to his thinned lips.

Emma kept silent, just looking at him. She knew from long experience that it just wouldn't do to apologize and give a man hope when you had no intention of following through. While stringing men along was a tactic Emma knew how to use very well, especially in the Hellfire Club and corporate environments, here with the X-Men and her fellow teachers, it wasn't a healthy way to co-exist with them. Teasing and flirting was one thing and it came as naturally to her as breathing, but she had told Jean the truth, she was not interested in Scott Summers. Hell, she wasn't interested in dating any of the X-Men… well, at least not the male members. She's flirted a time or two with the thought of asking Ororo out on a date and would have… if the woman didn't still harbor the world's longest grudge from the first time Emma had fought the X-Men. I mean really, what was a little mind-swap and infiltration of the X-Men's mansion amongst enemies?

"Another time then?" he insisted.

"No, Scott. I don't think that would be a good idea." Not at all, she told herself.

She watched in almost horrid fascination as his face twisted in anger and he thrust himself up onto his feet, leaning over her desk aggressively again.

"What? Won't date a blind man?" Scott accused.

Emma stood up and walked smoothly to the door, refusing to show an ounce of unease. She wasn't afraid of him physically, since she could turn to diamond before he got off a second hit, and he no longer had his concussion eye blasts. Besides, his demeanor was positively juvenile and even if she had entertained the idea of taking him up on his offer, there was no way she would stoop so low now.

Holding the door open for him, she turned and gave him a cold look, her eyes full of distain. "It's not that I won't date anyone who is blind, Scott. That's not it and if I cared about what you said at all, I'd be insulted. But the truth is, I don't care and I'm just not that much of a masochist to want to date _you._ You'll have my report on the Genosha trip and Angela sometime tomorrow."

Scott stormed out, with a parting shot of, "Bitch!"

Emma slowly shut the door behind him and walked back to her desk. Something was going on with that man, something she knew she had to speak to Jean about. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

_Emma smiled softly as she nodded at an acquaintance from her neighborhood. It was early, before the morning rush, her favorite time of the day when the sun was still new and the air crisp and tasted faintly of sea salt from the ocean. _

_She stepped up to the small coffee cart that she visited every morning, smiling and buying her daily blend and adding a small orange juice and blueberry muffin. As usual she indicated with a smile that he keep the change and then turned to her companion, giving her the juice and muffin. They walked side-by-side slowly, both enjoying the morning._

_After taking her first sip she turned slightly to the woman beside her. Emma had been surprised at first to see her here, but then it seemed… right, even if she was just a part of the dream. Angela walked tall beside her, her glowing blue eyes flitting here and there as if soaking up the sights and not just the weather._

_"This," Emma smiled and waved an elegant hand through the air. "This is Genosha. Look at them all, Angelica. They're all mutants, like you and me."_

_She pointed to a small group of winged mutants that swooped through the air currents above. "A family of fliers, all soaring together. I don't know their names but I see them every morning and when the wind is just right, I can hear their laughter. It is exquisite isn't it?" _

_Emma could see Angelina peering at her, the woman's thoughts telling her that she was smiling as much about Emma's own state of happiness as the seeming idyllic city around them. Emma laughed almost giddily as Angelica shared her own happiness empathically. "Angelica. You don't mind me calling you that do you? You can be Angela to everyone else… I don't know why."_

_Angelica smiled at her, "I don't mind."_

"_I'm being silly, I know. I just wanted to show you this. I wish you had known this instead of the one you were born in. To be born free. I'd have liked to see you fly between the one hundred flagpoles that lined the long road to Magneto's mansion, zipping back and forth with abandon. I wonder what color your feathers would have been?" she mused as she crossed the street with her companion following obediently, eating her muffin happily. They entered a huge park sitting in the middle of the city and Emma took a seat at one of the benches just inside, overlooking a sunken Victorian style rose garden. She waited for her Angelica to sit beside her, both taking a moment to enjoy the numerous roses around them._

_"I would come here almost every morning to drink coffee and enjoy the city waking up around me. So many minds, such happiness. It wasn't perfect, of course, partners still squabbled and children still cried, but it seemed closer to perfection than anywhere else I'd been."_

_Leaning back Emma closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun, the bright rays making her blonde hair shimmer in the light, a slight breeze blowing strands onto her face and nose tickling her. She could feel Angelica's eyes on her and almost shivered._

_"It feels so real, doesn't it? So very real," she said, her voice dipping lower, softer._

_But it wasn't. The sound of birds. The warm scented breeze. The millions of mutants that walked in freedom around her. It was all just a dream._

_A dream gone by._

_Emma turned and smiled sadly at Angela… Angelica. "Even you're just a dream."_

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Please don't forget to review. I'd love to hear from new people as well from the faithful few. Thank you!**

**Chapter 8**

_Emma is right, it is beautiful here. My eyes catch sight of a bumblebee flying around the lid of my cup of juice and I smile. I've never had a dream so real as this before. I take a deep breath through my nose and can smell everything. The roses. The ocean. Coffee. _

_I can even smell Emma and the faint perfume that I know is hers._

_Even my sense of her seems real, her emotions so clear to me. She's enjoying being alive and feeling at peace as she leans her head back to enjoy the sun on her face. I've never dreamed like this before, not even during those simple nights with my siblings and I've definitely never a dream so beautiful as this. _

_As free as this._

_"I was happier here than at any time or place in my life," she paused for a moment, giving me a wry look and swept a lock of hair behind her ear. "I should know better than to wallow in dreams like this one, and heaven only knows why I have imagined you within it. You're as real as this place is now; just a figment of my imagination. A fragment left over from that psychic charge between us on the plane perhaps? Or maybe you're the embodiment of the damaged part of me? The part I left behind here?"_

_I can see her considering that and I silently wonder myself what's going on in my dream. I know that when Emma touched me she left something. Knowledge and experience mostly. Memories as well. It's hard for me to fully understand, but I have met and worked with a lot of slaves at the command of our Masters. My own senses have felt and merged with others and had thoughts that weren't my own, so what happened is not entirely strange to me. But I think that what Emma left behind is more than a simple merging. I don't know what it is, but as I look at this Emma that I've dreamed up, I wonder if she's more than just my dream. I've never seen Genosha like this, nor sat in a park. I've never seen mutants flying or walking down the sidewalk without being collared._

_Maybe… maybe this isn't my dream. _

_"There are so many pretty flowers here," I finally say, not knowing what else to say still gazing at her._

_Emma smiles at me sadly, her emotion echoing in me and making me feel like crying in return. It's as if this Dream Emma understands what I'm thinking, just as I understand what she's feeling._

_She reaches up, her fingers warm from holding her coffee, and cups my cheek. _

"_Angelica…" Emma starts to speak and then the image of her becomes fainter and fainter until she's gone._

_I guess she was just a dream after all._

The strangeness of my crèche is what wakes me up. The smell of the sheets and blankets I pulled from the bed into the closet unusual and new to me, unlike the burnt smell of the ones I usually crawl into at night.

The glow from my eyes is low, but enough to see the small space I've made my own for that night and glimpse the clothes that hang above me.

Then it all comes flooding back to me. Doctor Hank, the furry blue one. The fiery haired Jean whose senses always tickle when she's around, like my hands over a small flame. Even the smelly short one, Logan. Warren, who told me he was my father.

And Emma. Remembering her brings the dream back to me, crisp and clear, along with her emotions, her bright smile and hair in the sun, and the soft scent of her perfume. The dream is still so real as if I just stepped out of the park and lay down here in my crèche only a moment ago.

I snuggle down deeper into the pile I made still half-asleep and unwilling to crawl out of my crèche yet. I've spent many days waking up without my siblings around me and I feel just alone now as I did then but I go through the same routine. Even as sleepy as I am I reach out with my senses and search for my brothers and sisters automatically. I have never been successful, but it's a routine now.

But instead of the emptiness I'm used to, the tingling feel of mutants around me nudges me further awake. Some are as sleepy as me, which makes me smile, thinking how alike we are. Others are in various emotional states. I can even feel the nasty jangling feeling that I remember from yesterday when Scott Summers came to the infirmary.

There's Jean, I note. I get the sense she notices me and sends me a warm and welcoming feeling as I pull my sense back in.

It's so odd to feel all this. I was never free to explore my surroundings this way without my collar being turned off and being ordered to find someone. Even in the mornings, with my siblings, it was the warmth of their bodies and the soft sounds of their breathing that I took comfort from, as I was unable to sense them with the collar on. After the Cleansing I had searched every morning not only to find some bit of comfort, but also because I could.

My senses come across Emma, close, perhaps next door or a bit further. The simple sensation of pleasure radiates from her for a moment and I bask in it, letting it fill me and sent a little bit back to her in greeting.

_*Good Morning, Angela.*_

I smile happily to myself and stretch in my crèche. Just being greeted like this in the morning as if I exist, as if someone else exists, makes me feel… I can't even describe it. I send a surge of my happiness to her and I can sense her amusement.

_*Don't worry, you'll soon get tired of all the busy minds and emotions running around here,* Emma thought to me._

I didn't quite believe her.

_*I'll see you a bit later, dear. I need to finish taking my shower. Oh… and your father is about to knock on your door. Try to be nice to him? He can be insufferable but he's a decent man at heart.*_

~knock~~knock~

"Angela? Are you up yet? Rise and shine."

I pull my senses instantly, but not before brushing by Warren who was close.

Hearing the door to the room they'd housed me in open, I kicked off the pile of blankets and sheets I was under and crack the closet door just enough to peek out. He stood there in the doorway, looking confused and slightly worried.

"Angela?" Warren took a step in and then started to turn around when he stiffened for a moment. "Ahh, there you are. Emma just told me you were… umm… sleeping in the closet?"

Sensing his disapproval, I let my gaze fall to my toes that are peeking up from under the long pa-jam-a bottoms I was given last night.

"No. No. None of that. There's nothing wrong with sleeping in the closet," he says as he steps closer and uses a finger under my chin to tilt my head back up. "I see that we're all going to have to be more careful with our emotions around you."

He gives me a wide bright smile and I can't help but smile back as I feel its honesty. I'm surprised to see he's only a tiny bit taller than me; for once I'm able to look someone almost completely eye-to-eye. I tilt my head to the side and study him, my eyes wondering over his face.

Warren seems to sense what I'm doing and stands there letting me look him over. I had been too tired yesterday to really understand what was going on when he talked to me, too tired to get a really good look at him. All I remember was the sweet treat he brought me, his wings and the almost shy way he told me he was my father.

Of course, when I cringed away from him, Emma had to come over and explain that most fathers weren't bad. I knew then that she could see the confusion in me and that the meaning of "father" that had risen up inside me had been Emma's, just like all the other bits and pieces that I suddenly knew. Emma's father was different.

"Your eyes are blue." Warren's voice drags me back from my thoughts and I can't help but give him a confused look.

Of course my eyes are blue.

He laughs at me softly, but not in a cruel way.

"I didn't mean what color light shines out of them, Angela. I meant the iris," he reaches up and circles his eye. "The blue part of mine. Your irises are blue too, like mine. Unusual for a brunette like yourself."

I had seen myself in the mirror of the bathroom yesterday, when Jean had shown me how the shower controls worked and had given me soap, shampoo and other things to clean myself. Having rarely seen myself in a mirror, maybe once or twice in passing when out with a Master, and was shocked at what I had seen. I had hair and I didn't have my slave markings anymore and I could look at my eyes and my body without being cuffed on the head for being lazy.

Jean had stayed with me, and held me as I traced my fingers over where they all used to be. Every other day our scalps were shaved, to better see our tattoos and numbers, and to not see them made everything…

Real.

"Well, Hank wants to do a couple small tests this morning while everyone else is at breakfast, so that you can eat in peace. You up for it?"

"Okay," I replied, finally speaking.

"You get dressed then and I'll wait outside your door," Warren said as he left, shutting the door behind him.

I turned back to my hidey-hole to look over the clothes Jean had said were now mine. They weren't many and they weren't like the skinsuits I had worn my entire life, but they were mine.

Yet another thing I didn't feel completely comfortable with, just as I didn't feel comfortable being in this room alone at night.

I sighed softly to myself and picked out several pieces that looked like they'd cover me completely.

While I didn't feel like leaving, and it did seem safe here, as Emma had told me it would be, it was still a very confusing place, filled with strange and confusing people. But at least there were people.

People.

I blinked in surprise as I considered the word I had chosen. I hadn't said slaves, mutants or Masters.

I had said people.

Emma took her fruit and coffee out onto the patio when she spotted Jean through the glass. Now would be a good time to have a little chat about Scott and another little matter she believed Jean could help her with.

"Good Morning, Emma," Jean looked up from her paper as the patio door opened and the white clad woman came out. "I'm surprised to see you in public this soon, before your first cup of coffee even."

"It's my second cup actually. You know I don't call that swill you're drinking coffee. I don't know who insists on brewing it for the faculty each morning, but honestly they shouldn't bother. I brew my own in my rooms every morning." Emma pursed her lips in disgust as she sat down and gave the cup Jean was drinking from a pointed look. "I'd offer to educate you and share mine, but I only made enough for myself this morning."

Jean chuckled in good humor. "Tomorrow perhaps?"

"As long as your taste buds can stand up to the challenge." Emma's eyes twinkled lightly as she sipped from her own cup. A slight hum of enjoyment escaped her. It really was good coffee and not that store bought tripe that most people deigned to be consumable. Sycophants.

"Scott came by my office last night. He asked me out to dinner." Emma speared a bite of cantaloupe, chewing as she waited on Jean's reply.

The surprised look in the red-head's eyes wasn't a surprise, but the mild flash of jealousy that followed was.

"I told him no, of course," Emma said calmly as if she were discussing the weather.

"I see," Jean replied and wiped her lips on her napkin, her eyes lowered to her own breakfast plate.

One of Emma's eyebrows lifted in curiosity. The jealousy the other woman had shown was indeed a bit of a surprise, but Emma had the notion that it wasn't due to Scott being interested in another woman. Or at least, not only because of it.

_*Jean?*_ the blonde reached out and gently held out her mental presence for the other woman to accept or reject.

With a little sigh, Jean lifted her gaze back up to Emma's and completed the light telepathic connection between the two.

*_It's nothing,*_ she answered the unspoken question. _*I'm not jealous of him.* _Jean paused and rolled her eyes. _*I mean, I am jealous somewhat. He was my husband. I still love him. I'm just not in love with him.*_

_*I see,* _ Emma responded calmly, repeating Jean's own words.

_*Don't play therapist_,* Jean sniped playfully.

The blonde's eyes danced almost wickedly as she looked back. _*I wouldn't dream of it. The school doesn't pay you enough for my rates anyhow.*_

After their mirth quieted, Emma refocused the conversation.

_*He came in to discuss, or rather complain about Angela, and then seemed to settle down, admitting he needed to give her a second chance. But after I turned down his offer of dinner, he became almost enraged and accused me of being prejudiced against him because of his blindness,*_ Emma explained as she stabbed at another piece of fruit. _*I… nevermind.*_

Jean reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Emma's. _*What were you going to say?*_

Laying her fork down, the blonde telepath looked directly into Jean's inquiring eyes. _*I swear he was going to attack me.*_

_*Scott? Emma really… I don't believe…*_

_*Yes, yes, you're probably right_,* Emma interrupted and pulled her hand from under Jean's and picked up her fork again, resuming her assault on her fruit.

_*Emma…*_

"I plan on taking Angela shopping later. Someone has too. She needs more than a bar of soap, a trial-sized bottle of shampoo and two sets of clothes. While the donations were admirable, I do have the time after my last afternoon class. Would you like to come?" Emma asked calmly, as if the tension from the previous topic was nonexistent. "Angela feels comfortable around you and she could use one or two persons besides myself on her first trip out in public."

Jean sat up straighter and sighed as she pulled her hand back. "Yes, I'd love to come. Perhaps we should Dani and Shan to tag along? I had planned on Dani showing Angela around the school today, thinking that she'd be one of the more open-minded of our younger faculty. And I'm sure the two of them wouldn't mind time away from the campus."

"Ahh, young Love. I still can't fathom what took those two so long to realize what was between them," Emma smirked over her coffee at Jean. "Don't tell anyone, but I can't help but feel positively ancient when two students, who were also members of the New Mutants, are now teachers. The same age as my Hellions were."

Emma swerved away from the morose thought as she tried to keep the conversation on a lighter note. While the memory of her lost students still hurt, there were a lot of fond moments that she dwelled on as well.

"Well, Shan and Dani do make a good couple and a nice inspiration to our gay and lesbian students, as well," Jean replied calmly. That period of time wasn't as much of a pleasant one for her either, what with her basically coming back from the dead to everyone's shock. The red-head ruthlessly shoved all those memories aside, refusing to ruin her breakfast. The topic of Scott would have to wait for another day, hopefully one where Emma wasn't so recalcitrant about the subject. Honestly, Jean had known Scott since they were fourteen years old, who better than her to know what was going on with the man, even after they had divorced.

"I'll leave asking the darling couple up to you," Emma broke into Jean's train of thought. "Actually, I had something else I needed to discuss with you this morning. Something of a more professional bent."

"Okay." Jean set her napkin down on her own plate and sat back in her chair. "What about?"

"Angela," Emma stated with a wry twist of her lips, "and what happened on the plane."

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she reopened her end of the telepathic connection between the two, wanting the conversation to be more private.

_*Is it possible for a psychic bond to be accidentally created?*_

Jean's eyebrows raised in surprise. _*You mean, a bond like the one Scott and I have?*_

_*Yes. You've spoken of it a time or two. I assume it's still there?*_ Emma asked even though she knew the topic was a private one.

Jean looked at the blonde a moment or two, trying to guess her interest in the subject. It wasn't a secret, this psychic link that she had hooked up with Scott when the two were very young and very in love, but it was an intensively personal thing to talk about with someone else.

_*Yes, it's still there. I've… I've tried to remove it or shut it down, but it's still there. The only thing I was able to do was put a block on it, so we can't read each other's thoughts or know where the other is. I did that after… well, when we separated. It's not permanent, unfortunately. I have to re-strengthen it every morning.*_ Jean cocked her head slightly in curiosity. _*But for one to be connected to someone else that way on accident? I have no idea. You mentioned Angela. Is there something you haven't shared with Hank and I?*_

Emma carefully kept her expression as calm and unconcerned as possible as she answered. _*Until I know one way or another, I want this kept between you and me.*_

_*All right, if you're that adamant about it. What is going on, Emma?*_

_*I need you to scan my mind to see if there's any psychic residue leftover from yesterday. Or if there's a link to Angela. I searched last night, but didn't find anything. You would know what to look for, correct?*_

Jean looked at Emma in shock. Obviously something about the incident on the plane had Emma worried, or at least leaning towards the idea. Psychic bonds were extremely rare, even amongst telepaths. Twins were more than likely to have them than anyone else. And judging how the other woman was reacting, grilling her about why she thought she might have one with Angela, wasn't on the agenda at the moment.

_*Yes. It looks different than a normal telepathic connection,*_ the telepath shrugged off her surprise and answered, _*and it's very hard to find. It makes sense, in a way, since a permanent psychic bond with another person is by its very nature a private thing. Let me show you before I scan you. If you're willing?*_

Since Jean knew where the link was in her own mind, it took less than a minute to connect more securely with Emma and dive into her own mind. They stood at the end of a brightly lit hallway, blocked from going any further by a large door with padlocks and several bars welded in place.

_*You don't do things by halves, do you?*_ Emma observed with a bit of humor.

_*Well, it used to look more like the gates to the Greek underworld, but I thought having flames and a huge three-headed dog named Emma instead of Cerberus guarding the entrance was a tad overkill. I wasn't in the best of moods when I thought that one up and I was watching re-runs of Xena at the time,*_ Jean conceded with a small smile.

_*Well, I'm glad you got rid of the dog at least. I am a bit insulted you named it after me however.* _Emma reached forward and slid her hand along the outline of the door and then touched each lock. _*I don't feel anything. If you hadn't brought me here, this door wouldn't exist for me. I can't sense anything. Not even any brimstone,* _she added teasingly then grew serious again._ *I'd like you to scan me. It's not something I'd prefer. I am a…*_

Jean touched Emma's shoulder, the touch as real here in the psychic plain to telepaths as it would be in the real world.

_*We all have secrets, Emma. What I see in your mind will be held in the strictest of confidence. I'm flattered you asked me for help actually.* _Jean carefully guided them out of her mind, their eyes opening at the same time. _*As for not seeing the link, I'm not surprised really. Even the Professor was unable to see it when he scanned both Scott and I. Which is why you shouldn't be surprised if I don't find anything in yours.*_

Jean wasn't in a terrible hurry to scan Emma, knowing the other woman was an extremely private person and that the experience probably wouldn't be a pleasant one. _*What makes you think there's something there at all, Emma?*_

_*Little things.*_ Emma took a moment to gaze into her, now cool, coffee._ *There was a moment yesterday when the subject of her father was brought up and she said...*_

_*'What's a father?' I remember that.*_

_*You weren't looking at her at that moment, neither you nor Hank. You didn't see her face. She suddenly __**knew**__ what a father was and it horrified her.*_

_*But... Why would that horrify her though? Warren's not __**that**__ bad,*_ Jean snickered.

_*Yes, well my own father was __**that**__ bad, Jean,*_ Emma replied emotionlessly. _*And I hazard to guess that the moment of ecstasy that Angela and I shared on the flight back yesterday, that you all have been tittering about constantly since then, left behind a bit more than a nice afterglow in each of us. I still remember everything I saw in her mind and little things keep popping up when I think about her. Little bits of information. How she saw things. This morning, when she woke up, she was reaching out with her empathy and I knew why without looking into her mind, Jean. I knew that putting her in that room last night was a mistake on our part. We put her in there alone.*_

Jean frowned, considering what Emma had said. It could be a bond perhaps, or just the residual remnants of yesterday's imprint between the two.

_*I saw a lot about her in that moment. I was her and vice versa until I managed to separate myself. I've been in a lot of minds, Jean,*_ Emma's eyes hardened_. *For good and bad reasons both, but what happened was unusual. I think there might be more, Jean. I can feel it. I could be imagining it all of course. Lingering trauma from Genosha and all that, but I had a dream last night. Not a nightmare. A dream. Of Genosha during happier times and she was there. Angelic... Angela.*_

Continuing to sit quietly, Jean listened to what Emma _did_ and _didn't_ say. If there was something there, some sort of psychic link between her and their new resident, Emma wasn't thrilled about the entire idea.

_*All right. Let's have a look shall we?* _Jean stood up and moved to stand behind Emma's chair. Gracefully placing her fingers on the other woman's temples, she also broadcasted a subtle telepathic suggestion so that anyone that might be in the faculty dining room behind them would feel the need to look elsewhere.

Minutes passed with Emma being as passive as she could be and Jean as delicate as she was able. Neither woman communicated even when Jean saw moments in Emma's mind that caused her to flinch psychically, bringing them both pain.

_*Nothing, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. I'm sorry Emma_,* Jean finally pulled away and sat back in her chair wearily. _*I did see something else however.*_

_*My nightmares from the last few months,*_ Emma stated matter-of-factly. She had seen everything that Jean saw during their tour of Emma's mind. _*You think I might be part of the reason why she's here.* _Emma smirked at the other woman. *_Yes, I caught that thought as you ran into Angela's version of events in my memories. I'm not precognitive, Jean. There is no way I knew she was coming to this time.*_

_*No, I know you're not a precog, but you are one of the few survivors of Genosha and the only telepathic one at that. You lost everyone you cared about there, just as Angela did. You needed healing, so what better way than your psyche finding you someone to save. Genosha generated a lot of psychic energy, Emma. I felt it from this side of the world. It left its own psychic scar on the Earth. With that many deaths, it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that all that energy helped bring Angela forward. Combined with the residual energy from her trip through Pipeline's teleportation tunnel after her Hunting trip, well you and I have both seen stranger things.*_ Jean shrugged, then brought the conversation back to the earlier topic. _*However, I think we should have Hank do a scan of your brain waves.*_

_*You think something might show up there?*_

_*It never has for me, but we should cover all avenues.*_

Emma stood up and gathered her plate and coffee cup. _*Ahh, Jean. You just enjoy taking me to the most enjoyable places. Are you always this fun? A little breakfast with a brain scan afterwords. Is that your idea of the perfect date, Ms. Grey? Or should we just skip the first date and head right to the… physical exams?*_

Jean's reply was thick with amusement. _*I promise I'll bring flowers.*_

_*Well, then. By all means.*_

Scott gave Esme a welcoming smile and a wave for her to take a seat across from him.

"Goodmorning, Esme. I'm sorry to pull you in here during breakfast."

"It's fine, Mr. Summers. I don't usually eat much at breakfast anyways," she reassured him.

"Well, let's get to the point then. I don't want you too late for your first class. I was wondering how close you and your sisters are lately?" he asked, his smile now gone and any expressive look hidden behind his visor.

The blonde, blue-eyed teenager before him looked as if she was a cheerleader instead of one of the strongest telepaths in the world. At least one of the strongest when her and her other sisters were all melded together in their 4-as-1 gestalt. Even without each other they were a mental force to be reckoned with. But it was this particular one Scott had heard other teachers talking about in concerned tones. It was this one he was interested in cultivating.

"Not as close as we once were," Esme Cuckoo admitted frankly and without sounding as if she regretted the state of things between herself and the other three.

"And how much can you keep from them, if I need you too," Scott asked her, giving her a wry smile when she winced at him. "I'm well protected psychically, Esme. All you'll do is give yourself a headache."

"Yes, Mr. summers, I see that. And to answer your question, I can keep anything I wish from them, and I have."

"Ahh. Like the fact that you experiment with that mutant-enhancement drug, Kick?" Scott sat back and waved his hand through the air dismissively. "I could care less about a little drug experimentation, Esme. I just wanted you to be aware that I know of your little fun and while I can't condone it, I do understand it. Believe it or not, I was once your age and not that long ago either. However, if you want to continue living here, you'll have to stop."

Esme's stunned look slowly melted away into a more thoughtful look. "So, so if you're not kicking me out Mr. Summers, what is it you want?"

Scott gave her a smile, inwardly pleased how easy this all was. "Nothing much really. I just need you to keep an eye out on a new resident of ours. I need her tested, Esme. I need to see what she's made of. Subtly make things more difficult for her. I'm sure you can think of ways. She's older than you, but not socially adept. Then report back to me, and only me, every day or so. Be sure to keep this between us. No sharing with your sisters or anyone else."

Esme's smile eerily echoed the Headmasters. "Gotcha Mr. Summers."

TBC


End file.
